Chroma
by whispering willow
Summary: The first real color most people see is the shade of their soulmate's eyes. It's there the change begins. From seeing the world in muted grey and blacks and whites, to a vibrant world full of wonder and so many colors, bleeding out from one meeting, that connection of two lives destined to find one another. It's just too bad that for Steve and Tony, nothing is ever that simple.
1. Chapter 1

Tony had always seen the world in vivid hues. From his earliest memories the sky had been a crisp, clear shade of cornflower-blue, the grass a shade of green that nothing else ever quite matched. It was enigmatic and indescribable to him – even before he knew that it was just one more thing that made him strange.

Children simply did not see in color. With the very rare exception where they happen to meet their soul-mate at such a young age, it just didn't happen. Even those who fell into that category knew who had triggered it. Everyone who has met their mate remembers every detail about their meeting, where they were and what was going on, how they felt and usually what they were even wearing. From that point on they could pick them out of a crowd of thousands, were drawn to wherever they happened to be, and always knew, somewhere down in their heart, their partner was safe.

But Tony was different. Tony was different in a lot of ways and after a few years he learned that that was one thing he could keep to himself and no one would have to know about. Son of Howard Stark was bad enough. College freshman before he truly hit puberty had just exacerbated things. Orphaned too young and a genius celebrity living on the edge… no one gave much thought to Tony Stark's love life beyond which socialite was draped pleasantly on his arm every other night. Some of those he bedded had claimed to still see the world in black and white, others were more forthcoming that his eight-hundred dollar silk tie was a simply stunning shade of emerald.

Tony never batted an eyelash at that, or responded in kind. He learned from his parents that while soul-mate may have technically meant 'forged from the same spark of life' – it was not synonymous with easy, smooth, or even always worth it.

Every now and then he would find himself with his body pressed against another's – watching the rise of crimson as their skin flushed, the slowly growing shades of blues and purples where his mouth had lingered perhaps just a little too long, the deep red of their kiss swollen lips, and he would blanch, his heart stuttering in his chest. The knowledge that this was wrong, that he should not be privy to these sights, to any of these hues, a bitter taste like bile in his mouth. Tony would almost be ready to run before collecting himself, commanding the lights off and their world falling into darkness, color forgotten and mind lost in the physical sensations of lust.

He always spent more time in the bottle after nights such as those.

Pepper knew. Pepper knew everything. She knew when to push and she knew when to let things go. She knew how to run his company better and more ruthlessly than he did and yet could still perform the somewhat delicate procedure of changing his arc reactor. She knew Tony literally inside and out and never actually left him to his own devices for longer than he could handle. Tony loved her. He tried to tell her, once. But Pepper had seen the world in color for two, brief, wonderful years in college before it had been snuffed out by the bright orange and red flames of a house on fire.

She had fallen asleep that night in a world of brilliant hues and full of life of all sorts of shades and woken up to the heartbreaking grey stillness of death.

As long as Tony still saw the world as he did, she knew he would never give her all of himself.

And, painfully, Tony knew she was right.

* * *

_New York City: June 29__th__, 1970_

"_Tony. Look at Daddy, Tony." A bubble of a sound that was quite possibly a burp rumbled through the tiny infant in Howard's arms. Maria was upstairs, resting for once. Howard had been talked into wandering the mansion with his insomniac of a one month old son. They keep telling him all babies stay awake most of the night, but he's not so sure about that idea. Needs to be studied. _

_Tony's eyes were bright and everywhere, darting around the room, settling on something for a moment before moving on. He did look at Howard for a brief beat, making another burping sound then looking for something else. Howard walked slowly, but with purpose, until they were down in the sub-basement. He punched in a code to one of his storage units but instead of the latch releasing and the door swinging open, a hidden panel on the other side of the room slipped free. _

"_I want you to meet someone, Tony." He spoke even more quietly than before, as if his voice would disturb more than just the sensitive ears of his son. "He's a big hero, you know. National icon and all that. Though in his slang you would just say 'all around swell guy'." Howard let the panel slide closed behind him before pulling the small chain to flood the room in light. Computers lined the room, small indicators of green and red blinking in and out of existence._

_In the center, encased in a box of thick, riveted metal, was a massive block of ice, kept frozen by the generators above and with backup generators for the backup generators. _

"_We found him about two months before you were born, son. Don't have anything to do with him yet, though. I don't have the technology to thaw him out and guarantee he'll survive. And I can't lose him twice." He looked up at the box with a wistful smile, missing a friend but willing to wait. He could wait, until it was safe. The one indicator that had a sound, a slow, steady beat, slower than it should be but ever present, seemed louder in that moment._

_He looked through the tiny rectangular window into the box. "Tony, meet Steve Rogers. Steve, my son Tony." Howard held Tony's delicate form up a little higher, making his hand wave. _

_He almost didn't see it – the way Tony's eyes seemed to instantly focus the second he said Steve's name, wide eyed and staring with what almost seemed like intent and awe at the metal box where his friend rested. But he wasn't that unobservant to his son – not yet – and Howard smiled._

"_I knew you'd like him."_

_Later, after checking a few more readouts and altering a few settings with a fine touch, Howard and Tony left as quietly as they had come, Tony's eyes never straying far from Steve's icy tomb until the panel was shut one last time._

_Tony slept through the night without issue from the next evening on._

* * *

Steve and Bucky had once stayed up late, listening to the quieting sounds of the city outside their tiny apartment window, arguing over what a world in full color would be like – what an experience it would be, what kind of a punch in the gut actually meeting your soul-mate must feel like.

They both spent their meager twenty something years in various shades of grey.

Steve liked to imagine that he dreamed in color, that one day the images he saw in his head he would be able to recreate on the pages in front of him as they were meant to be seen rather than in the hard contrasts of charcoal and the pressed fibers of his paper. Sometimes, when he drew, he would pause in his shading, feeling like it wasn't complete, that nothing he ever drew would be complete until he could really bring his images to life.

But there were more things in their lives to worry about than the 'what if's' of something they didn't actually need to survive. Because survive was what they did. Through poverty and death, through health problems that nearly brought them both to their end and then the terrors of the war they fought apart before they fought together – they survived.

Until they didn't.

Sometime after Bucky fell – he doesn't really remember how long – Steve found himself sparing a thought that somewhere out there a person he had never met was going to spend their whole life in the dark. They would never know what it was like to experience the world as it was meant to be seen. But worse than that they would never get to have that exasperated yet fond eye roll directed at them, feel the strength of his arms in a hug or the warmth of his soul in his laughter.

Because Bucky was gone, and his other half would never know.

Maybe that was a good thing. Less painful that way.

But he didn't have long to dwell on any of it, after that.

The sun that day, the day Steve died – thought he was going to die – had been a bright white sphere in the constant dull grey of his sky. The horizon didn't exist. The ice blended seamlessly with the clouds in the distance until it was impossible to tell one from the other. Peggy, beautiful, strong Peggy, who he admired and dreamed about and had more than once regretted hadn't been the one to open his eyes, spoke to him through it all.

And the last thought that crossed his mind, before the impact into the frozen landscape and before the ice would drag him under, was that he would have liked to have known what the shade of her lipstick would look like against the crisp white of a linen collar.

* * *

"I thought you were going to get rid of that thing years ago. Donate it or _something_ Tony." Pepper's voice was exhausted and pinched in Tony's ear as he drove through Manhattan. "You were the one who suggested that it would make a great museum. We can still do that, you know. It would be really good for our image, especially after the expo."

"The expo was not our fault. Everyone knows that." He swerved around a car going too slow and sped up just as the signal changed from the green triangle to a yellow circle to give his next turn just a little bit of oomph.

Pepper's sigh was long suffering. "What are you even doing Tony? You haven't been there in decades. _No one_ has even stepped foot in the place in years."

"Don't you have a meeting to go to?"

Silence.

Tony could hear the pinched look on her face all the way from Malibu. "When you're done digging up ghosts, send me a message. I'll see you when you get home, Tony. And please, don't bring them back with you."

The line fell dead and Tony tossed the ear piece into the passenger seat just before taking the last turn onto Fifth Avenue.

As it had been for decades, the mansion was eerily silent. He hadn't stepped foot in the building since a few months before his parents had died, forced home by his mother on a holiday of some sort or another. She had loved this place, and her touch was still everywhere. Even under the inches of dust that clung to every surface, Maria Stark shone through. The red and gold jacquard fabric of the couch was a familiar texture beneath the drag of his fingers. The 70's and 80's had never really invaded her tastes and any updates she ever had done were simply because she wanted a change in the color of her classical décor. Or from Howard making it 10 years ahead of the current technology available to the general public.

Pepper was not wrong. He had thought about getting rid of it at one point. Maybe sometime in his mid-thirties – he couldn't pin point exactly when, most of his life in that time frame had been a blur of booze and women – there had even been paper work drawn up to make it permanently no longer his problem. But as he picked up the pen to sign it away, Tony had really thought about the place for a moment, its massive size and truly ridiculous amount of excess. But though he didn't have many fond memories, something kept his hand still, kept walking him through the images of hallways and stair wells in his mind. The strange feeling of a room all in grey, coming alive with color.

An icy chill had gone down his spine and Tony could not bring himself to sign the contract.

This was his first time spending any length of time in New York since Afghanistan. Since Iron Man. Since slowly trying to poison himself and unable and unwilling to ask anyone for help. The city had always been such a turmoil for him. Malibu was what he considered his home but New York was _peaceful. _Even with the bitterness and bad taste in his mouth the memories left him with, something always drew him in, made him feel welcomed and warm.

His world was a little more vibrant in the city.

But the moment he had stepped into his old penthouse – overlooking the construction of his latest project – something just felt wrong. It no longer felt like he was walking around wrapped up in a warm blanket on a chilly day and the sky line seemed a little duller than normal.

He was halfway to the mansion before he realized where he was going.

Twenty minutes of aimless wandering and Tony found himself walking down the stairs to his father's old private labs.

Now THAT was something he had never done.

Even as a teen, proving time and time again that he had the brain power to keep up with (and surpass) his father, Tony had never been allowed further than the first level of Howard's labs. The ones he shared with other visiting scientists, brought the cameras in to share with the world whatever he was working on at the time – that was where Tony was allowed and no further, just like everyone else.

The door pushed open easily and Tony wondered what he would find down there. Would he find something half-finished that would revolutionize the world or the old prototype of a flying car that Howard could never really get off the ground? Maybe he would find his old man's porn collection.

Tony paused at that thought and had to shake it away before going any further.

Disappointment was a familiar feeling in Tony's chest, settling in and taking a firm hold at the empty room he found beyond the entrance. It certainly looked like there had once been many mad ideas tinkered with down here, like it could have been an older version of Tony's own workshop just picked clean down to its bones. Along the wall at his right a series of doors with advanced-for-their-time but way out of date now security locks were shut tight. He tapped a few random codes into the first couple, not really expecting anything to happen and not so curious that he bothered actually taking the minute or two it would take to hack into them. Just as he was about to turn around and head back out something on the far wall caught his eye.

A seam, mostly likely once undetectable but now easy to spot with the time worn age of the walls, ran from the floor to just and inch below the ceiling then made a sharp turn left.

Curiosity finally piqued, Tony smirked. Only his old man would hide something so deeply – in a secret room, in a private, heavily locked lab, below an already fairly exclusive part of his home that just so happened to be the most secure building of its day for hundreds of miles.

Fuckin paranoid, is what he was.

Apparently Tony came by it honestly.

He ran his fingers along the edge of the seam even though it was pointless. He wasn't going to be able to pry it open with his hands. A cursory look around the lab and he was able to find an old tool box laying half open and counted his lucky stars there was a heavy crow bar buried in it. There still wasn't any reason for any of this. He had no idea what he would find, it was stupid and pointless, and…

Air hissed through the crack after a minute of prying and Tony threw all of his strength into it, encouraged. He bit his bottom lip through a groan of exertion that finally gave way to success when something snapped. Even once the latch was free it was another minute of work to slide the thing completely open and Tony was met with darkness.

With trepidation he stepped in, hoping his eyes would adjust but hesitating from actually looking for a local light source.

This was stupid. Whatever was or was not in there Did Not Matter. Whatever Howard was hiding from the world either should stay hidden or had long since lost its significance. Tony was just chasing ghosts. Pepper was right. He should just turn around and forget it. There wasn't anything down here for him and there never had been.

Tony ran into something dangling from the ceiling and reached up, giving it a quick, hard tug.

Hope he hadn't known he was clinging to – and for what he was clueless – shattered in his chest as light flooded the area.

The room was empty.

* * *

_New York, May 2008_

"_You know he hasn't _actually_ been declared dead yet, right Director?" Coulson stood at the front gates of the Stark mansion staring up at the true monstrosity of a building. Behind him, waiting for his signal, was a small team loaded down with equipment and a fair number of heavy duty dollies. _

"_I am aware, Agent Coulson. But we have to take this opportunity to retrieve the package without raising suspicion. If Howard's records are reliable, then he's still down there, waiting for his wake up call."_

_Admittedly Phil's heart was racing and his skin tingling down to his fingers in anticipation. Hell would freeze over before he let any part of his countenance betray that. "Understood sir." He said flatly before he turned to glance at his team. "Let's go get the good Captain, boys. Fury thinks he's been asleep long enough. Take him back to HQ and see what we can do."_

* * *

The room he woke up in had been dull and muted. His senses hadn't come on full alert yet so Steve hadn't really noticed anything out of the ordinary. When the woman walked in with a military uniform that was just a touch not right, shades of something he'd never seen before and soft brown hair he assumed he was still dreaming.

He had been dreaming for so long.

It was outside, running among the mass of people and sights and sounds that it all hit him so hard. Harder than the strange place, the odd vehicles, the sounds and building all around him so strange and new and _wrong. _It hit him like a punch to the stomach from a battering ram and he nearly couldn't breathe again.

Everything was so _vivid._

Yellows and greens, purples and reds, browns, golds and colors he didn't have names for and would spend the rest of his life learning and cataloguing into their own categories and various shades of hue overloaded his senses as he came to a halt in the middle of the street, cars suddenly surrounding him.

When Steve looked up, the sky was _blue._

Everything that happened after was a haze of debriefing and questions, people he would have to remember, names to put with faces and information that, piece by piece, would fill him in to just what the hell was really going on. But he was so damn distracted.

Blue was the only color he could place so far. Everyone knew – the sky is blue, grass and leaves are green, the sun is yellow and your first sunset is going to be the most beautiful shade of orange you will see in your entire life. But there hadn't been any grass or leaves or trees of any kind yet. Just an overabundance of _everything _and _all at once._ It was all overwhelming. The sheer number of colors he'd been inundated with, piled high with everything that was going on, meant that it was laughably easy to shove aside the ache at not knowing who had caused this.

Of course, that only lasted until he was alone again.

Laying in his room – a new one, none of the farce they had tried to force on him – staring up at the ceiling, Steve was drowning. Everyone he knew was gone. Every _thing _he knew was gone. This was a new world and there was no one here waiting for him. He hadn't crossed the ocean and could simply go home when this was all over. Home was gone. Never before had he felt an ache like this, a loneliness that would not cease. He felt like a piece of himself had been torn away and he hadn't even known it existed before it was gone. Steve's hands were shaking. His lips trembling.

In the all-encompassing darkness of his first night in a new century, Steve cried until he was numb.

When he had no more tears to shed, he stared blankly up at his ceiling until the light of dawn peeked through his window.

Then he got up, and faced the next day.

* * *

For all of Tony's life he never could quite figure out how he could operate with such little sleep. Conditioning, probably.

Then again, when he really thought about it, the world probably wouldn't like what he could do if he was always one hundred percent rested. That's it. He was throwing everyone else a curve. Can't be too far ahead right?

And at three a.m., rubbing his eyes and reaching for his coffee, that's what Tony always tells himself – and he's sticking to it.

He'd been reading the files Coulson left with him for hours, pouring over energy read outs, incident reports, personnel evaluations, statistics, styles, aptitudes, strengths, weaknesses. When he finished one file he took a break and read up on thermonuclear astrophysics before starting the next one. Each hour that passed he knew everything SHIELD had given him about another possible member of their team, and another large chuck of information about the tessaract and how to find it. But he kept sitting one of them aside, sure he knew quite enough thank-you-very-much about Captain America. It wasn't like he didn't know they had found him and woken him up. (What kind of genius could he call himself if he didn't have a little fun poking around the easier layers of top secret servers every now and then?) It was just that he'd heard everything he thought he needed to know about the perfection of Steve – fucking – Rogers while he was growing up. Any time the icon with the red white and blue shield came across his screen he would idly flick it away, off onto another part of his workstation. Out of sight, out of mind.

But by the time the sun came up, it was the only one left.

The image of old, true black and white news reels flickered across his vision but he tried not to focus on the pictures. There were stories and narrations of different battles, various incursions and rescues Captain Rogers and his company had successfully performed. Most of them were rather vague, but transcripts of actual mission reports had so much detail Tony had to blink a few times, rub his eyes and re-read some of them.

Suddenly the next thing he saw after the report of his crash was a grainy image of a large container. A thick, gunmetal grey crate with a single viewing slot and hundreds of wires coming from it filled his projected screen. It looked oddly familiar.

Tony felt cold.

The next image showed Steve laid out on a high tech bio-bed, IV's and monitors _everywhere _and a breathing tube secured around his mouth. Tony had to wonder why they still had him so bare, the man would probably never feel warm again.

One more image crossed the projected screen and Tony bit his bottom lip. The caption told Tony it was taken just a few days after he woke up. It was the first time he'd really looked at the guy's face since he'd started reading all of this mess. It wasn't the first time he had seen Captain America without his mask on, seen Steve Rogers as he was meant to be seen. Not many photos of him like this had been public but there were a few. And then of course, there had been Howard's collection.

What struck Tony so much about this one though was how somber he looked. The icy blue of his eyes looked haunted – empty – and even though he'd been asleep for decades there wasn't a doubt in Tony's mind that Steve was exhausted in it.

It took him longer than he thought it would to tear his eyes away from the image.

Tony tapped the casing of his arc reactor when he noticed the tightness in his chest.

Beneath the various photos of Steve's recovery was a short, undetailed summary. The Psych Eval information contained a link to the whole report (and that was the longest one he'd ever seen and almost even more detailed than his own – though, when Tony thought about it, Rogers had probably been a willing participant in the whole procedure whereas Tony, well, wasn't).

_Recovered from 74.05, -20.27 – _

–

_Retrieved and returned to S.H.I.E.L.D. 18__th__ of May, 2008. _

_Regeneration Process Began: 15__th__ of October, 2011._

_Psychological Evaluation Grade: Level C._

_Return to Active Duty: Not Recommended._

Tony blinked. That wasn't right. He flicked his hand across the surface in front of him and a keyboard projected itself. His fingers went flying. Long archived files on his private server cascaded across his field of vision as he cross referenced dates and important key words, mission reports, and agents of record. He chased the inconsistency like a cat with a laser pointer. And he felt like it too because just when he thought he'd gotten something it was gone. Not the information of course, but the link he thought he'd seen. He just didn't have enough information on his own servers. Tony would have to go straight to the source.

The problem was, these reports were always pristine. Especially Coulson's and this file had his smarmy, straight faced sense of perfection all over it.

Except that information was missing. The Recovery information should have a date, or why else would it have been separated? Why was there a gap between Recovered and Retrieved?

What was supposed to go there?

"Sir."

"Not now, JARVIS." Tony snapped, already at the end of his patience with the information available to him.

"My apologies, Sir. However you asked me to inform you when it was 6 a.m. so that you could take the rest your body will need before piloting Iron Man."

Tony dropped his head and cursed, feeling the exhaustion pulling him under even where he sat despite his rapt attention on the file before him. He'd forgotten which day he'd managed to sleep last and the safety protocols he'd installed in the suit after his last birthday meant that wasn't good enough.

With one last, long look at the picture of Steve Rogers, Tony waved a hand and shut the whole mess down. "Fine. You win." He stood and stretched, glaring up at the closest camera so JARVIS would know it was meant for him. "I'm going to bed, mom. Wake me up in three hours."

"Your compliance is appreciated and protest duly noted." There was a pause. "Sir." JARVIS added almost as an afterthought. Tony vaguely mused that he should re-program that attitude out of his AI and dismissed the thought almost as soon as it came.

The discrepancy in Steve's file was not forgotten even if Tony wouldn't think about it again for a very long time.

* * *

Late summer was an entirely new kind of experience for Steve.

"You want me to get used to the world, Director? Used to what this country is now? Then let me go see it." He'd been trying to push this idea for weeks before the invasion.

The second he brought it up after, Fury just signed a piece of paper and sent him on his way. "I hope you aren't too disappointed in what you find." He heard before the door snapped shut behind him.

New York had been… well it had been something else. From the moment he and Iron Man had captured Loki in Stuttgart and all the way through till they watched Thor return him to their home, Steve had felt alive again. Despite the situation, he had felt more whole – as if he had a purpose once more. On the field of battle they did what they had to, he did what he had to. He kept his cool, analyzed the situation at hand as the threat it was and reacted accordingly – and he was good at it. That's what Captain America did.

How Steve Rogers dealt with the aftermath was something else entirely.

No one likes to talk about after.

Driving away from that park had felt like rolling down a steady decline into just another empty pit, waiting to swallow him whole.

When he was in his own time he had no doubt there would be hurdles to overcome as a soldier going home from war. But he hadn't come home from war. Oh, he'd left the war alright, but there was no home waiting for him any longer. Nothing and no one to catch him, not even the familiar old neighborhood to return to so there would at least be _buildings_ to remind him of what he had gone over seas to protect.

The night mares were worse than he'd ever thought they could be. And now there was a word for that tight clench in his chest when something innocuous triggered his fight reflexes. _Panic attacks - h_e had been told. Luckily they didn't knock him off his feet. Steve managed to breathe through even the worst of them and do what he had to in order to get out of a situation or fix it, but damn it they _hurt. _

And if they happened while he was alone, he just let himself succumb because there wasn't any point in fighting himself.

Almost a month after the Avengers parted ways Steve found himself sitting on a beach somewhere in central California, arms around his knees, on the outermost edge of a long, rocky jetty and waiting for the sun to go down. The salty breeze gusted through his hair, chilling his skin and stinging his face and he just lifted his head to accept every touch the sky had to offer.

Though he tried hard, harder than ever, to put the past few months out of his mind (not forget, just, set aside, for now), there was one thing he kept coming back to.

Tony.

For a while Steve had tried to tell himself that none of them had gotten along that well off the field. But that was a lie. It was just the two of them who seemed to have it out for one another. They were nails on chalk board to each other and Steve could still remember the sense of complete disappointment at finding out Tony was not what he had expected. Which was strange of course, since there was nothing to expect of him before their meeting, not really.

Steve had been wrong. He was almost upset with himself over how wrong he had been.

He has nightmares about falling now. Two distinctly different ones, each just as painful as the other for a host of different reasons.

But he's never the one in the air.

All Steve can ever do is watch.

The hues shifted across the horizon and Steve looked up just in time to see the sun touch down and light the sky on fire with oranges, red, and soft pinks in the curves of the scattering of clouds. The sky directly overhead had been slowly changing since he sat down, from a soft periwinkle into a brilliant shade of royal blue. Every color was either a blend into the next shade or such a perfect contrast that it looked outlined in ink. The reflection of each color danced in the waves of the water that stretched on infinitely before him.

It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and all Steve could do was feel bitter.

He'd been awake and seeing in full color for eight months and Steve still hadn't picked up a colored pencil, a marker that wasn't a shade of grey. Honestly he hadn't even thought of anything other than charcoal and pencil's when it came right down to it. He still preferred the hard and rough strokes the charcoal gave him, the feel of it in his fingers, the way it could look almost dirty on the page if he was letting himself go. Everything he'd drawn in the last few months had looked like he felt, jagged and sharp. Real, but just this side of not quite complete.

Steve hadn't shed a tear over himself and his situation since the first night he woke up but the hollow pit eating away at his stomach out there on the jetty pulled him precariously close.

In his pocket, Steve's phone buzzed. The sharp, clear sounds of a single bell broke through the white noise of the waves around him.

_Message Received: Tony Stark: _

_You back in New York yet?_

Steve frowned at his phone. Natasha had taken a long time going over all of the basics with him before he had left, and as was usually the case, Steve had caught on quick.

But he was fairly certain he hadn't put Tony's number in there, and yet….

He couldn't help the smile, as he lifted his phone up high and carefully went through the steps Nat had shown him.

_Message Sent: _

_[IMG]_

_Message Received: Tony Stark: _

_Damn. Jealous. When you get back, I have something to show you too._

Instead of responding Steve let out a soft sigh and slipped his phone back in his pocket.

There was something warm settling in his chest at the idea that, even if it was just through the gift of technology, he was able to share this view with someone – anyone.

For a while Steve felt a little less lonely.

Tony fidgeted absentmindedly, his right hand tapping out pointless code on the clear polished wood of the conference table. In his left he held his phone open to a the latest picture Steve had sent him, eyes flicking to it every few seconds while his mind danced between four different ideas at once.

"Mr. Stark. Since you actually decided to show up to this meeting for once it would be a nice change of pace if you were actually with us."

Five. Five ideas.

From beside him Pepper simply raised an eye brow and stared him down along with the rest of the boardroom, not even bothering to defend him. Traitor.

He focused all of his attention and a tiny, half lipped grin at Mallory and his gruff, vexed face. "The armor project for the military contracts needs another set of eyes. Hire that kid that just published his thesis… what was his name." Tony snapped his fingers for effect even though he was perfectly aware of who he was talking about. "Breland or something or another. Anyway, he's done more work in his three years in grad school toward a workable alloy than we've done in a decade. Pick him up, give him more money than he deserves and sit back and wait. The media problem is nothing new. I've put together my own PR team for the Avengers so you guys can drop it and never touch it again. Problem solved. As far as Fujikawa goes, forget about them. They talk big but I've seen their tech and I know who they've got leading their teams. We'll worry about them if they ever replace their current leader of R&D. The S5 isn't ready yet and I don't care if Apple is launching in three months. We won't put out a sub-par phone that has to be revamped and upgraded once a week for half a year. Send it back to development, make _sure_ there are no bugs left and then we'll put it out after Apple's hunk of cracked glass garbage, charge 200 dollars less for it, and sell four times as many." He tapped his own phone – which was technically made from the S5 base though nowhere NEAR what the public would have – on the table a couple of times before casually picking it up and throwing it as hard as he could against the wall. It fell to the floor with a satisfying thunk, still in one, solid piece.

Not so surprisingly, only a quarter of the people in the room flinched. Pepper just looked tired. Most of them were used to Tony's errant behavior from before his days as Iron Man. To be honest he hadn't changed that much in the meetings, just less… intoxicated.

To his credit, Mallory didn't bat an eye. He spoke in smooth, even tones. "I highly doubt anyone here is going to vote to let a 22 year old lead the project that happens to be our biggest contract. We are also all perfectly aware of the fact that you've hired a personal PR department for your little pet project – you took most of ours." His eyebrow twitched at that. "For you to come in and act like you have somewhere better to be for the entire meeting, throw out answers you think will magically solve all of our problems when you're called out on it and then put on a display like you're 22 again yourself? Childish and uncalled for, Mr. Stark."

Tony balked when the man actually tutted, as if his disappointment in Tony would get _anywhere. _Tony's own disappointment in himself didn't make much headway, fucking hell if this guys was.

All he had in answer was a laugh. As he shook with it, Tony stood, walked over to where his phone lay on the ground and bent low in a bow as he picked it up. "Boys and girls, its' been swell. Super fun. Let's do this again sometime yeah? And Mallory?" He paused after opening the door, looking back at the red flush of anger that had started creeping older man's face. "If you can't get with the program that the fresh, young minds are where we're going to find our breakthroughs, I'll make sure we replace yours with one of them."

Tony barely caught sight of him standing in a flash, his chair thrown behind him against the plate windows. "How DARE YOU!" But Tony was gone, halfway down the hall way. "I still don't see why you let him get away with any of this!" He could still hear his voice billowing down the hall.

"Because, Louis, as I'm sure you are perfectly aware it is still his company. Besides, it's not as if anything he said was…" Tony didn't hear anything else Pepper had to say as the door finally fell closed behind him.

And this was why Tony doesn't go to board meetings.

They make everything out to be more convoluted and unnecessarily complicated than they need to be. He has never been able to fathom how they can't see the logical answers. The patterns and paths to the conclusions Tony always gives them are so obvious they're practically tangible.

But maybe that's just him.

He was in the elevator heading back to his temporary apartment (the penthouse was still being repaired and a number of levels below that completely renovated) when he leaned against the wall and flicked his screen back to Steve's sunset.

The image was an excellent quality but given that Steve's phone was almost an exact copy of the one in Tony's hands, well, that was to be expected. He moved his fingers along the smooth surface and scrolled through all the other pictures Steve had sent him. Portland. Seattle. Some place in Idaho. No pictures for almost two days and then Minneapolis. Chicago. Toronto. Montreal. Images of beautiful sites and all the stupid tourist traps, skylines that went on for days and every now and then, a sunset – though none as brilliant as that first one. It was as if Steve had decided to continually answer that first text – especially since Tony hadn't ever responded back.

He found himself on the original sunset picture again, zooming in on the details in the swirls of the clouds that Steve probably hadn't even known the phone could capture.

"_This is the definition of overkill, Tony."_

"_I have a feeling Steve Rogers doesn't do anything in baby steps. Show him the basics teach him how to take a picture, maybe listen to some music. He'll figure the rest out on his own."_

_Natasha had leveled Tony a flat look that very clearly said 'you are right but I'm never admitting that out loud' and held out her hand._

_Tony slapped the phone into it with a smile. "Besides, this one won't break if he finds himself saving the world again anytime soon."_

_She had been walking away before she responded so Tony couldn't see if the softness of her voice had made it to her face. "Hopefully the world can wait a little while."_

"For all of us." He said to the memory among the emptiness of his apartment as the doors slid slowly open.

"Welcome home, Sir."

"Never left, J." After taking a deep breath for seemingly no reason and shaking out his fee hand, Tony stepped out of the elevator, immediately tapping his phone and flicking the image so it was projected on the crisp white wall of his living room.

"I am aware. However I have found the employees of Stark Industry consider it disturbing that you have a disembodied voice that follows you almost everywhere."

Tony smirked and let out an amused, quiet sound. "Disturbing like, can't get their work done because you can be kind of obnoxious or disturbing like, disturbed in the head and they should be scared?"

"Take your pick, sir." And if Tony didn't know any better he'd say his AI sounded exasperated.

With a wave of dismissal JARVIS fell silent and Tony turned his attention to the projection on his wall.

For days this had been his phone's background and he was constantly pulling it up just to admire the view. Something about it seemed… odd. And of course he'd thought about why to great extent. Maybe even a little excessively. Late nights in the lab it was a background thought while tinkering with another suit. During the day he'd find himself staring at it, eyebrows knit in confusion.

And at night, in between the nightmares….

It was breathtakingly beautiful.

But _why_ had Steve sent it to him. And then all the others, too. To Tony, of all people? It wasn't like he couldn't have answered a simple 'no' to his text. Had anyone else gotten this? Or something like it anyway. He found himself hoping that no one else had.

The thing that nagged at the back of Tony's head the entire time though – a thought he had early on and then just kind of _stuck _there – was if Steve understood just how breathtaking the picture was.

Because Tony couldn't come up with any fathomable reason to sit on a beach and just watch the sunset if you couldn't properly enjoy it.

And if he could enjoy it does that mean he was enjoying it with someone? Had he met them since waking up, or did he have to go steal them from the nursing home? The image of Steve driving his bike with an actually properly aged nonagenarian clinging to his waist had Tony chuckling. That seemed unlikely – though not impossible.

But even worse, what if he couldn't see color – _anymore. _What if he went into the ice and woke up to the muted tones of a black and white life and was trying desperately to remember what these images he kept sending Tony would have looked like if he had never been frozen.

Though Tony consciously hoped he was sharing it with someone important, with his partner, something deeper disagreed…

This was a problem. He couldn't tell you _why _it was a problem, just that it was. He should not care about any of this, and he had much more important things to be doing with his time than pondering the love life of Captain America, to focus his attention on.

Tony's phone buzzed along with the opening bar of 'Star Spangled Man with a Plan', effectively snapping him from sinking into the couch with a scowl on his face and making Tony toss the projected image into digital oblivion.

_Message Received: Cap:_

_ Ask me that question again._

Speak of the devil.

He blinked at his phone for a minute, surprised that Steve had actually used words for once.

Tony stood and tapped out his response on his way to his bedroom. Almost a month had past and he didn't even need to look up what he had sent.

_Message Sent: _

_ You back in New York yet?_

There was enough of a wait before he received a response that Tony was able to shed the outer layers of his suit and was standing in his boxers, cuffs undone and just getting to the buttons of his shirt when his phone buzzed again.

_Message Received: Cap:_

_ [IMG]_

_Message Received: Cap:_

_ Almost. Pick me up at LaGuardia?_

_Message Sent:_

_ You bet._

Tony stared at his phone after sending the message, trying to figure out why he had sent that response so fast. Didn't he have shit to do? There was the aftermath of the board meeting he had just walked out on to deal with for starters. And he had simulations running down in his lab. Bruce had a brand spanking new mass spectrometer being delivered in a couple of hours. He's fairly certain he had promised SOMEONE he would be at a thing about… something.

_Fuck it._ He thought and tossed his shirt onto the bed before heading to his closet and finding a comfortable, yet snug, pair of dark jeans and a clean t shirt.

He'd done worse things than skipping out on his responsibilities to go pick up Captain America.

Tony would make it up to Pepper later.

Steve thought he knew what a crowd looked like, growing up in the 'big city' and all.

New York of the 1930's had NOTHING on the big cities of 2012.

He wasn't quite sure what to do with the MASS of bodies that could accumulate in the 21st century though. Maybe it was left over from spending most of his life so damn fragile but even at his current size Steve was constantly trying to shrink away from others in a crowd. He didn't consider it nerves and if he did get caught in a bustle of people he could take it in stride it was just – reflexes, really. So far on his trip he had managed to avoid the worst of them.

But then, just as he was about to hit the last leg of his journey, his bike had to go belly up.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had offered to pick him up but he refused, compromising by letting them get his bike. He certainly could have had it fixed, maybe even fixed it himself, but since the only planes he'd ever been on in his life had been strictly military he'd wanted to give commercial flight a shot.

Looking back on it – possibly not the best idea he'd ever had.

The airport terminal had been the most voluntarily packed enclosed space he'd ever seen. Even with all of the open area of the atrium he'd felt cramped. There were people stretched out in chairs, camped out against the walls, huddled together over electrical outlets, and going every single direction imaginable.

He'd thought he would get a break once he was on board.

But that was an entirely different kettle of fish and so… so much worse.

It hadn't started out so bad, of course. The plane was full – six people across, three on each side of the aisle – and the seat a bit tight, but comfortable enough. He'd struck up pleasant conversations with another passenger and one of the flight attendants while they idled on the tarmac. But someone had recognized him – which seemed to be happening more and more and he wasn't sure if he was okay with that or not. Fifteen minutes after takeoff everyone in the plane seemed to be trying to make an excuse to come see him. He blushed a lot and got a little fidgety but Steve was going to stick it out. He liked people, after all.

He'd thought he was saved when the attendant asked if he would be willing to meet the pilots.

A quiet conversation with two or three people seemed much more preferable than the barrage in the fuselage so he quickly agreed.

The cockpit was small, as he'd expected, and covered in a sea of switches, buttons and indicator lights. They were flying high enough when he stepped in that the expanse of white clouds below them was more of an underline to the vast field of blue out ahead. After Greg, the pilot, and Pete, his co-pilot, introduced themselves Steve sat in the empty seat behind them and stared at the controls.

"Why are the lights in different colors?" It wasn't what he had really meant to say, but the shock of the concept kind of overtook him. Greg looked over his shoulder at him with a knowing smirk while Pete stared at Steve with almost as much surprise as Steve was staring at the controls with.

"Different types for different functions, sir." Pete, who had dark skin and looked young, younger than Steve – well, younger than he used to be… actually, that train of thought was going nowhere fast so Steve shook it away. Pete, who was very young for a pilot responded as if he wanted to follow that up with a question.

Apparently Greg had heard the inflection too. "Years ago all indicators were red, kid. Had to know what went where to get a handle on what was going on or a speed reader." He turned to Steve and tapped a lit up blue light. "But then Stark tech came out with these so that even young-uns like you who still haven't gone through the change can tell the differences. Course, they still aren't' allowed in the big chair but…" He shrugged "It has certainly improved reaction times. Especially for our boys out in combat."

Steve was fascinated by them, and by about a dozen other changes they pointed out to him over the course of the flight. Though he hadn't been an actual pilot he could tell by the inflection and excitement in their voices how big of a deal each improvement had been in its time.

And apparently at least three of them had been born from inventions of Tony's.

He made a mental note to ask him about it all sometimes. Steve really wanted to know how those lights worked.

"We're going to be making our descent here in a few minutes. May want to go ahead and strap in." Pete nodded towards the straps at Steve's shoulders before turning to fully face his instruments.

"Shouldn't I go back to my seat?" Steve frowned, gesturing behind him. He could certainly put up with a few more minutes of the public figure treatment and he had no desire to be in the way.

"Not at all! That seats only used on long hauls so you sit back and enjoy the best view in the house." As Greg spoke the plane had already been descending at such a slight angle it had gone by almost unnoticed.

That is, until Steve looked up from fastening the harness to see an endless field of white right below them. The bright blue of the sky above ended abruptly in a sharp horizon of white and there wasn't a gap to be found among the clouds. To anyone else, it would have looked serene. Peaceful.

In his chest his heart beat faster and his fingers clinched involuntarily tighter around the arm rest until he heard the plastic start to crack.

His spine shivered from top to bottom.

To Steve, it all looked like ice.

He did everything he could to keep his breathing steady, chiding himself for reacting in such a way. He was being ridiculous. The plane wasn't even noticeably angled. And he knew those were clouds out there. How many times had he been in the air – in actual dangerous situations including since he woke up? Of course, he doesn't consider the fact that this is the first time since the crash that he hasn't had other things to occupy his mind while in the air.

Just before the nose of the plane dipped below the surface of the clouds Steve sucked in a lung full of air.

Closed his eyes.

Held his breath.

Though the impact never came the tingle of ice crept up from the tips of his fingers and his toes, enclosing in on him, even if he wanted to he probably couldn't breathe.

Somewhere in the distance he heard a voice, muted and muffled beyond the pounding of his own pulse in his ear.

"Is he alright?"

There was silence again.

Then a different voice, louder.

"Would you look at that sky line?" Whoever was speaking whistled, impressed. "I see those buildings every day of my life and the sight never gets old. It's changed a lot though, even since I started flying this baby."

Something in Steve's brain kicked back into gear and he managed to get his eyes open.

And exhaled.

"Bet there's all sorts of new stuff for you to see, Captain?"

He blinked.

Inhale.

The ice was gone. No. The clouds were gone.

Exhale.

Buildings stretched out all across his field of vision, separated by the bay and cutting into the grey overcast of the sky.

Breathe.

Slowly Steve's fingers uncurled from their death grip around the arm rest, knuckles popping from how tightly wound they had been. His skin still felt cold all over and his chest absolutely _ached _as if he'd been slammed into the ground by Thor. It was as if he still couldn't quite get enough air but he wasn't drowning in ice. He wasn't going to blink and miss another eternity.

"Yeah." Steve coughed, trying to take another breath. "Yeah, bit different."

Greg nodded to him before turning his attention fully to their landing. Once or twice between communicating with Control Pete looked back at Steve with a worried expression.

But neither of them said anything else to him until they were safely on the ground.

Landing was kind of blurry for Steve. His heart never really calmed down. At least, if it was it was doing it in such tiny increments that it was really hard to track. He tried hard to focus on the buildings, on the sounds of the engine, on the words being spoken around him. But his skin could never feel warm enough, and the ice kept pricking at his bones.

Focusing on his breathing seemed to get him through though. So he did that. He did that a lot. And if he had to remind himself to breathe every now and then, well, no one else needed to know.

Finally on the ground again, and after what seemed like the longest taxi in ever, Steve forced a smile as he left the cockpit. He could tell by the way Greg and Pete looked at him – the way a lot of people in SHIELD looked at him – that they were worried. But they didn't bring it up, instead letting him disembark before the rest of the passengers and giving him a pleasant send off with a smile. The attendant had his bag waiting for him and as soon as he was around the corner of the docking tunnel, out of sight of the plane but before he could see the door to the terminal, Steve stopped and tried to catch his breath again.

He pressed his hand against the rough texture of the wall, fingers moving in small, tiny motions not for the support but for some kind of tactile reminder. He was safe. He was on the ground. His body could stop over reacting any second now please and thank you. The sound of chatter behind him got Steve moving again, though he desperately wished for more time alone. He thought that maybe, if he could just not have to interact with anyone for a little while, he could get this all under control.

When he crossed the threshold into the terminal, Steve's hear rate skyrocketed once more. Though he'd thought it impossible, the scene before him was busier than Boston.

If Steve were a cursing kind of guy – which he could be when the situation called for it – he might have just gone off the deep end. He paused long enough to straighten his back, square his shoulders, let his face fall into a neutral expression, and then pushed forward. After walking out of the tunnel and into the busy walkway he paused just long enough to get his bearings, resolutely ignoring the roar of the crowd in his ears and the strain he was putting on the strap of his pack by holding onto it so damn tightly. He was about to turn left, to follow the signs toward where he thought he should go when for some reason, he looked down the right side of the area.

Hundreds of people filled the corridor, walking, running, idling, but off in the distance, leaning against the edge of a wall, reading something on his phone, was Tony. Steve could only catch a glimpse of him here and there and it was difficult to actually SEE that it was him. He was wearing a plan black shirt and dark jeans, wore oversized sunglasses (inside, really Tony?) and was so engrossed in whatever he was looking at that no one gave him a second glance.

Steve walked toward him with new found purpose.

He hadn't gone very far, maybe a quarter of the distance between them when Tony looked up, immediately found his gaze, and smiled.

Even from his distance and after Tony had tried to rein it back, the smile was warm and excited and exactly what Steve needed. Because after months of new experiences, strange faces and even stranger places, Tony was something – someone – he knew. It didn't matter that he didn't know him all that well. He was a memory Steve could have and not have to cling to and hope he wouldn't forget. And then of course the way he smiled – however briefly – well, that was something else altogether.

Odd thought, that one. Steve tried not to dwell on it.

"Last I was told your plane was going to be another ten minutes." Tony stuck his phone in his pocket and looked out at Steve from under his sunglasses when he approached.

"Really? And how long ago was that?" Steve raised an inquisitive eyebrow while Tony moved his glasses up to rest in his hair.

"Obviously a hell of a lot longer than ten minutes." Somewhere in Steve's peripheral vision a flash went off. Just barely he managed not to flinch, but clung to the strap at his shoulder a little tighter. Tony, looking Steve over curiously, didn't seem to notice the intrusion on their personal space. "Here." He said suddenly, reaching for Steve's bag. "Let me, no, really…" They struggled for a moment, Steve of course protesting, "No, don't hand it, yes. There, we…." But Tony eventually winning. "Oh my god what are you carrying in this thing?"

Together they started walking side by side, Tony guiding them to the exit. "Is it Avengers paraphernalia? Pieces of a shield prototype, which, by the way, would put you so off my Christmas list forever if it is and you saw anybody but me for it." Steve glanced down at his hand and slowly uncurled his fingers, still stiff and cold, then immediately closed it again to hide the deep purple nail marks in his palm. As they walked Steve heard his and Tony's name over and over in the otherwise white noise of the crowds, whispers and murmurs blended together. More and more flashes came and went, people looking, longer stares, and the unmistakable sounds of unmuted camera phones surrounded him.

Tony just kept walking while Steve's stance became all the more tense.

"I'm really kind of hoping for Avengers shit though. Not like, useful stuff but toys or something. Because I could totally see you getting a little bobble head of everyone on your team. Except for yourself, of course. Because that would be a little overly narcissistic and I'm going to need you to forget I ever said that when you see my Iron Man collection."

Steve snorted a laugh.

The more Tony talked the easier it was to ignore all the attention around them. "But seriously?" He adjusted Steve's pack again with exaggerated exertion. "Is it pieces of your bike? And while we're on the subject, what did you do to the thing anyway and what did it ever do to you that you would let SHIELD techs of all people take it? I could fix your bike. I could SO fix your bike."

Truthfully Steve hadn't even considered that. But at the boyish gleam in Tony's eyes he knew he would make the same call anyway.

"You fixing my bike would result in flight, at minimum." No probably, or more than likely. He was dealing with Tony here and even in the short time he had known him Steve had learned that a couple of things were just absolute.

Tony Stark didn't do anything halfway.

They paused just outside of the doors leading out, Tony leveling Steve a blank stare. "And your point?"

For a brief moment both Steve and Tony stared at each other in silence.

Steve broke first.

He laughed. It started low in his gut, bubbling out through his chest, loud and abandoned, and it felt _good. _The good humor pushed at the pain that lingered there, mixed with it and saturated it until it was hard to tell that there had ever been any to begin with.

The ice still clinging to his skin began to melt.

Tony rolled his eyes when Steve clutched at his chest and shook his head, but his smile was bright enough to give away his own amusement so Steve didn't think too much on it.

It wasn't until they were standing at Tony's car, bag tossed in the trunk and about to part to their respective sides that either of them spoke again.

Tony turned to Steve, a little hesitant, and grabbed him by the arms. The reluctance in his face vanished and Steve watched him curiously, welcoming the touch and feeling strangely warmer for it.

"Look, Steve." It was the first time in as long as they had known each other that Tony had called him by his first name and it made Steve's breath catch in his throat, the way it sounded – so sure and easy. "I know you wanted to experience this whole, thing, and all. But I gotta tell you. I have no problem putting my life out there for these people, for Joe Schmo and doing whatever I can to keep them safe. But that doesn't mean I…" He paused and made a face somewhere between wary and disgusted. "That doesn't mean I want to actually _interact with _Joe Schmo. You know what I mean? This place is dirty, and crowded and… dirty. Only a slight level up from public transportation and like hell am I ever going to step foot into that again."

Steve could be angry at what Tony was saying, should be, but there was something in his tone that made him hold his ire back. "What are you getting at?"

"Don't ever make me come here again. I have a perfectly useable private jet with its own private entrance I can send for you to avoid this place, hell I'll pick you up with Iron Man if it means we don't have to do this again anytime soon. And by that I mean, ever." He patted Steve stiffly before dropping his arms.

Tony's words were harsh, but there was a hint of a breadth of subtext there that Steve caught on to pretty quickly. Combined with the crease of concern in Tony's brow, it all made Steve's insides twist up in a way he couldn't quite describe.

"I'll do my best, Tony." Steve nodded, trying to thank him with the silent gesture, between his own words. He wasn't ready to talk about any of this, and highly doubted Tony would even want to hear it. But he seemed to understand, and take the burden of admitting his issues off of Steve's shoulders. He was beyond grateful.

Tony smiled, eyes wide and full of wonder and Steve's world got a little brighter.

"So where are we headed?"

"Honestly? Anywhere but SHIELD."

His smile turned to a laugh as he pulled open the driver's side door. "You have _no idea _how happy I am you said that."


	2. Chapter 2

•°*"˜˜"*°•

Tony's suits still needed work.

He wasn't entirely sure which Mark was in his hands at that moment but it didn't matter. JARVIS kept up with all those details anyway.

Seals. He needed better seals.

Tony grabbed the stylus from behind his ear and scribbled something on a tablet near his elbow, constantly mumbling to himself. He needed to fix this fast, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

Something flashed through the shadows of his lab and was gone as soon as it had appeared.

Heart hammering in his chest, Tony worked faster.

What was he fixing again?

The part in his hand vibrated a moment before falling to pieces, gears and shards of metal spilling through his hands like water.

Flashes of brilliant colors exploded all around him, his body yanked by the base of his spine back and out of his window.

Glass shattered all around him and he didn't hear a sound.

He was falling, the night sky a bitter thing of beauty above him.

No suit. No support. No hope.

Why didn't he have his bracelets? He couldn't call the suit without his bracelets.

"Close it."

Tony decided he would just close his eyes and sleep.

That's all death really was, after all.

Sleep.

The impact startled Tony awake, jerking forward in his bed his sheets a damp sweaty tangle around his body. His breathing was difficult – more difficult than usual – and his head rocked with pain.

"JARVIS…" and was his voice always that desperate sounding after a nightmare? "What time is it?"

"It is 9:13 AM, sir." Instantly Tony went scrambling, nearly falling off the bed to get to the night stand. "You have been asleep for just over seven hours."

The voicing of his worries nearly knocked the meager amount of breath out of him just as his hands found what he was searching for. "Did someone drug me?" He held up his blood toxicity meter and held his thumb to it. (After slowly poisoning yourself for almost a year, keeping one at hand just becomes a force of habit.) It wouldn't tell him if it was something simple, but would set off any major warning bells.

"Not that I am aware of, sir. You and Captain Rogers returned from the airport at approximately eight pm and you spent the rest of the evening in the tower. Within four point six minutes of returning to your room you had entered the first stages of a REM cycle which continued peacefully and uninterrupted until twenty two minutes ago."

In his hand his meter beeped the all clear.

Tony stared at it in disbelief. "You mean, I just – slept?"

"It would appear that that is indeed the case, sir."

He blinked.

Slowly his heart rate settled down from the initial stages of panic and into something a little easier to deal with and Tony forced himself out of bed.

As he went through his morning routine Tony noted that his limbs weren't quite as sore as they usually were when he woke up and his the heaviness in his chest felt like a mere five ton anvil, rather than the usual fifty.

Huh.

So that's what rest feels like.

"When was the last time I slept that long?" He asks around his tooth brush.

JARVIS' response was immediate. "Three months, two days – "

"Ok, no. Narrow parameter. No drug, alcohol, medical, or disaster induced sleep."

Silence. Somehow he felt like he was being judged.

"Data not available."

No. Yeah. Totally judging him.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

"Welcome back, stranger."

Steve sat, legs crossed, sketch pad in his lap, on the floor right up against the window, staring out at the city below. The curve of the building was just enough that, if he held his gaze just right, he could see nothing but skyline. He looked up and smiled. "Good morning, Dr. Banner."

"If we're going to be sleeping across the hall from each other – " he handed Steve two steaming mugs before joining him on the floor. "then you can call me Bruce."

Steve nodded, still grinning, then tried to hand him back both of the mugs.

"No no. That one's for you. Pomegranate green tea." At Steve's curious look he laughed. "Don't worry if you don't like it. I'll drink yours. Won't go to waste."

"Thank you, Bruce." He lifted the cup to inhale deeply, catching the light sweetness in the scent and admiring the soft red tint against the light cream color of the cup. Beside him Bruce only watched for a moment before turning away, drinking his own tea while staring out below them.

"How was your trip?" He asked easily after a moment.

Steve let the liquid linger on his tongue before swallowing to answer. "Really really… ok." He tried to say good, to smile and say it had been worth it. Be he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about anything at the moment.

"Just okay?"

"Yeah. Well, I just… I went all over right? Down through DC then the Smokies, over to Nashville then cut back to Atlanta. I spent two days in New Orleans and despite how much Tony insists I don't think he'll ever convince me to go back. Out though Texas – Houston, San Antonio, then Phoenix and San Diego. I spent an entire day driving whatever roads paralleled the pacific. It was beautiful. But it all just felt like, I don't know. Pointless." He wanted to say how much it ached any time he drove west, how exhilarated and light hearted he always felt when heading east but he thought better of it. Bit of an overshare.

Bruce seemed to take the information and ponder it while he continued sipping his tea. "Didn't you say it was something you always wanted to do though?"

Which was true. He'd said as much before he left. It's why he went. But that desire had been a part of a larger dream of seeing the world.

A world he knew.

The expectations teenage Steve of the 1930's had and what adult Steve of the 21st century actually experienced were two vastly different things. Other worldly different at times.

"You know, there are perfectly good, rather luxurious couches you two could be sitting on right now."

They both turned to see Tony walk in in dark red silk pajama pants and a black tank, his own steaming mug in hand. The light of his arc reactor was a faint blue glow beneath the fabric. Bruce rolled his eyes and turned back towards the window but Steve smiled. Bruce mumbled into his cup. "Not quite the same view."

As Tony approached them so did the aroma of his coffee, strong and rich and – Steve guessed – as black as his shirt. Steve's smile faded a little, turning back to his sketch pad. On the page were a cluster of buildings, the ones that were new to Steve in faded grey and those he remembered in hard black outlines.

There wasn't a lot of black on the page.

"Not exactly."

Tony poked lightly at Steve's hip with his bare toe making Steve bend his head back to look up at him again. "The couches are still infinitely more comfortable than the floor. I mean, that's kind of the point, you know? You could move them. I doubt they'd be too heavy even for your delicate features." The smirk Tony gave him brought Steve's smile back in full force.

"Everything here is comfortable, Tony. Even your floor." Steve replied, ignoring the rest of the commentary.

Next to him Bruce chuckled.

"I hope that means you slept well." There was an undercurrent of concern in Tony's voice, even muffled by his mug.

Steve really had. Out like a light the moment his head hit the pillow. Steve didn't need just a whole lot of sleep but every moment had finally been restful for the first time since the 1940's.

And if he lay awake that morning staring blankly at the ceiling for an hour, well, he was just going to attribute that to how comfortable he had been and not anything else.

"Like a baby."

"Good. At least some of the very expensive furniture in this place is put to use." With an air of playful and exaggerated attitude Tony plopped heavily down onto the couch in question before propping his feet up on the glass coffee table.

Eventually, after a long period of stubbornness broken only by the fact that they had run out of tea, Bruce and Steve joined Tony on actual furniture. While Steve continued sketching – changing from structure to living models – the other two talked science so far over his head he didn't even bother paying it any attention.

In another month or so Tony's penthouse and their individual apartments would be completed and they would most likely not keep anything like this up.

But it was nice, and it was comfortable.

And damned if Steve wasn't going to enjoy it while he could.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

JARVIS got more data points on Tony sleeping like a normal human being than Tony knew what to do with.

Unfortunately, that didn't stop the nightmares.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

To say the bed Steve slept on was comfortable was a gross understatement. It was suck you in, don't need to move, never wanna leave comfortable.

Which is why, more often than not, he didn't. At least, the time between waking and forcing his feet to hit the floor slowly got longer and longer.

He was acutely aware of every detail on the ceiling in his room.

Comfy bed.

That's his story and he's sticking to it.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

"Bird brain, if you say 'I've got wood for sheep' one more time…"

"It's in the rules, Stark!" Clint put on his biggest grin while a half-eaten twizzler hung out of his mouth.

"I highly doubt they would put such language in a rule book." Steve didn't look up from his cards or the table but he didn't really have to in order to get that raw feeling of true disappointment across.

Even Tony could feel it and it wasn't even directed at him.

"I'm sure it's in an errata somewhere." Natasha reached over Coulson to grab the dangling candy from Clint while he spoke, tearing it between two pinched fingers. No one batted an eye. "Besides, the language is half the fun! Oh! Oh my god there is this card game you absolutely have to play!"

"No!" The entire table rang with it.

Except for Steve of course, and, well, Thor.

"What is wrong with a game of cards? We all enjoyed poke-em the last time we played." Thor put a tiny yellow piece with little polka dots down then looked up with a triumphant toothy grin. "I believe that reinstates my title of longest road." He held his hand out over the table just in front of Coulson.

For a long, silent moment Phil stared at him blankly.

Tony briefly thought Thor might waver under the intensity but his smile never faltered.

"Of course you have the longest road." He said flatly, finally slapping the card in the god's hand.

"And it's poker, Texas hold 'em." Bruce, sitting next to Thor smiling, pointed out.

"Which is so vastly different from what Clint is suggesting it's not even funny." Natasha's eyes were trained on Tony – who was supposed to be taking his turn – while she spoke.

It made him feel strangely self-conscious.

"Maybe we could ease him into it." He offered, effectively cutting off whatever Barton was about to smart off with. "Start with the original cleaner, boring version."

"What? The one about the fruit?"

Tony leaned to his left and spoke quietly to Steve, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than how adorable the man looked while trying to stifle his laughter. "If you've got any stone to spare I am in possession of some top class wheat." They made their trade without another word and Tony replaced a settlement with a red, striped city. "Oranges to Bananas or something like that." He said to the table. Tony curled his lip and poked lightly at a purple settlement covered in chevrons. "This was dumb. Why did you put that here?"

Barton immediately went on the defense (not a very good one) which Phil countered with dry statistics and Steve backed up with something about the importance of allies. Natasha seemed to just throw out anything that would be contrary to Clint just to get a further rise out of him while Thor and Bruce leaned over the god's cards plotting out their next move.

Tony just watched, smiling like an idiot and waiting for his turn to come back around.

Fall was settling in outside and everyone had finally moved into their own floors. For a while everyone had kept to themselves. Tony was glad to have his penthouse back. Natasha had more than likely been thrilled to have Clint out of her hair. Tony was convinced Steve and Bruce were excited not to have to put up with Tony's, well, Tony-ness any longer.

But sooner than later (and sooner than expected, not that Tony had really been expecting anything) they all gravitated back. More and more often there was always someone to be found on the communal floor, baking, eating, arguing with JARVIS (Clint), watching movies, hanging from things (also Clint) or just generally, existing.

Game nights had just seemed the next logical step when everyone was around with nothing else to do.

This was the best idea Tony'd ever had.

And that's saying a whole hell of a lot.

"This was not your idea, Tony." Steve leaned in close, being sure to hide his cards. "We have to drag you from your workshop every night we throw the games together just to get an excuse for me to see you. Us. Us to see you outside of drills and the meals you actually show up for. You are always working on your suit. Surely its good enough by now." He spoke quietly, under the din of not-quite shouting going on across the table. (Apparently wood was the rounds hot commodity.)

And ok, yeah. He spends a lot of time in his workshop, what else is new? Tony wondered if Steve knew the pope was actually catholic.

However, "That's not really what I meant. Not, of course, that I meant to say anything out loud in the first place."

Steve rolled his eyes, the gesture full of mirth. "Well then, what did you mean"

Tony sighed, settling back in his chair. "Just. I don't know. This – this living together but not entirely out of each other's pockets thing. We're not perfect but we're better and who says you need an excuse to come see me anyway. It's not like you don't know where I am 90% of the time. You prove that every night you and Bruce come and pound on my door for game night until I either come out or one of you cons JARVIS into shutting off my music I still don't know how you two manage to do that by the way."

Steve gifted Tony with one of his rare, private smiles. "We ask politely, Tony. And he knows it's good for you so doesn't put up a fuss." When his smile faltered Tony's brain went scrambling for how to get it back again. "And, are you sure about me coming down there? You always look so… focused."

Manic, was more like it. But Tony didn't point that out.

A distraction is probably exactly what he needed.

"Of course I do." And there was that smile again. Bingo. "You've had your own code since you moved in." Tony wasn't going to tell him what it was. More fun to let him try and figure it out.

"Hey! Mom and Dad." Clint's voice cut through their conversation. Later, and pretty much for the rest of their natural lives, Tony and Steve both would regret that they looked up and responded in synch.

"What?"

The table erupted in laughter.

Clint had to hold onto Phil to keep from falling over. Natasha actually shook from trying to hide hers. Thor and Bruce were open and free with their amusement and even Phil didn't try and cover his soft laugh – though his eye roll was fairly epic.

Steve looked at Tony with an amused grin of his own. "I think the children are tired of waiting for you to take your turn."

Tony snatched the dice from in front of Bruce and tossed them while leveling a condescending look at Steve for playing along with a table full of hooligans. When the dice came up seven he pointedly picked up the robber and placed it on a hex surrounded by purple pieces covered in chevrons.

Clint clammed up immediately and gave Tony an exaggerated glare.

"Oh it's ON now."

•°*"˜˜"*°•

In truth it wasn't very often they could get Tony up to a game night. He was a very busy man and already taking time out to train with them on a regular basis. Steve understood that perfectly well.

So he tried not to push.

But he did want to see him at least a little more than their schedules afforded. Though he was seriously contemplating changing his mind about that.

"I am NOT saying that every time I want to come down here, Tony."

Tony wasn't bothering to hide his amused smile but even if he had been the humor shone brightly in his eyes.

"But it's so fitting!"

"My pants aren't even tight!" Steve clutched the side of his khakis and tugged to prove his point.

"Oh I don't know." His grin turned sly and Tony twirled his finger around. "Do a little spin for us and I'll be the judge of that." Steve raised an eye brow at him and didn't give in. Instead he crossed his arms and stared Tony down. For a moment they stood there in silence, a few feet apart and waiting for the other to budge first. Steve was not losing this one.

In a huff, Tony finally gave in. "Fine. You are absolutely no fun at all you know that? JARVIS, change Captain tight pants' security code."

There was a soft beep. "Enter information now."

"Charlie four Papa Sierra, India Charlie Lima three." Tony's smirking got worse.

Steve slumped with an exasperated sigh. "Why on earth do I put up with you?" He asked while moving to sit at a mostly empty desk.

Though Tony seemed to wave him off and turned back to his own work, he answered, "Because I'm smoking hot yet strangely adorable all at the same time." It was rather flippant but somewhat questioning and Steve caught the way Tony was still watching him from the corner of his eye.

But he only answered with a shrug, mostly because he was right, but Steve wasn't willing to admit that just yet.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

The thing about being a superhero is that, sometimes, shit happens.

It's not always world ending shit, but it is still a mess, it still gets everywhere, and in the end, it still fucking stinks.

"I don't like this, Cap." Hawkeye's voice came clear through the line just as Tony spotted him and going right along with his words – his tone was not amused.

"Right there with you hawk. I think they're trying to split us up."

And they had done a damn good job of it too.

It had been such a pleasant day for Tony and everything. Up too late in the lab finishing a new mod to his latest suit, breakfast with Bruce, Thor, and Nat before Thor went off world. (Thor's crepes were phenomenal, Tony could still taste the hazelnut) before a quick nap. Board meeting by lunch that was surprisingly pleasant and fruitful, brainstorming with his R&D guys for an hour or so (and god could he pick some brilliant minds) time in the gym and had just about gotten around to convincing Steve to cook dinner when his fucking windows exploded.

Again.

Tony knows, deep down, that he's not really allowed to have a 100% good day but that seemed a bit like overcompensating.

"Why haven't I perfected transparent aluminum yet?" He said absently as he fired at a thug in a jetpack.

It was just four of them, with Thor off world as of that morning and Hulk deemed unnecessary for the given situation. Captain America, Black Widow, Hawkeye and Iron Man were taking care of things. For a given definition of 'taking care of things' anyway. But the twelve thugs who appeared to have no goal in mind other than general chaos were good. Within twenty minutes they had split into groups of three, taunting and leading each Avenger off in a different direction.

"Two of my guys have some kind of energy field that makes projectiles fucking useless." Hawkeye nearly growled into the comm just as one of Tony's targets barrel rolled out of the way and started firing back at him.

"I think this is a test." Natasha said tersely through the sound of an explosion.

"Uh. I don't think I studied this subject at MIT." Tony had to double his speed as the tables were turned on him and all three of his counterparts gave chase.

"Can it, Iron Man. Widow – " Cap went silent a moment while he – Tony assumed anyway – either attacked or dodged one of his foes. "Explain."

"Twelve of them and should have been six of us. Four in the air for Iron Man and Thor. Two god awful behemoths for the Hulk. Four masters of hand to hand for you and me and two assholes with force fields to piss of Hawkeye."

"It's not just the force fields! They keep throwing shit in the air that sets off my specialties too soon. Almost like they know what I'm going to shoot before I do."

"But Thor and the Hulk didn't show up." Cap said calmly even though Tony could hear the heaviness of his breathing. If they were giving Captain America a workout then they were terrifyingly well trained.

Silence – as much silence as can be had in the heat of battle anyway – fell while each of them focused momentarily on the tasks at hand.

Tony swiveled to his right then dropped out of his flight path to narrowly avoid getting hit with a small missile. He had to immediately fire at it to keep the damn thing from hitting a building. Clint hadn't been exaggerating though. No one had done much damage to these guys because they were always two steps ahead.

"Which is why everyone got a third dance partner! Why Iron Man and Hawk got two more buzzards and you and I got – " She was cut off by her own scream.

"NAT!"

Tony's sensors picked up the multitude of tiny explosions coming from Black Widow's vicinity within seconds of her line going silent.

"JARVIS do some calculations for me will ya?" Readouts began pouring across his HUD and he had to continually keep rolling out of the way of projectiles so much that Tony was barely even able to fight back.

The longer he fought, the more critical the heart rate monitor off in the corner of his vision became.

Tony ignored it.

"Tasha! Talk to me!"

"Widow! Status report!"

More silence.

One of the guys in flight with Tony clipped him and this time the roll went uncontrolled for several moments.

As soon as he got steady again (too long) he spoke up. "I can get to her location in 45 seconds but the second I'm more than one hundred yards away from these ass holes they open fire on civilian targets."

Cap answered first, sounding like he really wanted to just tell him to go. "We don't know her status yet I…"

"BULLSHIT! Set a distraction get her to safety and reengage before they know what…"

"NEGATIVE!" Just as Tony was brainstorming some effective distractions Natasha cut through Clint's argument. "I'm alright. Little singed but I'll live."

He breathed a sigh of relief then immediately did his own internal evaluation. Tony's suit was still fully functional for what he needed, almost everything he did was evaded by those bastards, and the only time he seemed to be able to make contact was when he was pulling shit out of his ass.

Which meant…

"Change your style!" He shouted over the line. "They know our fighting techniques and they adapt quick but it takes em a moment!"

While each Avenger voiced their understanding Tony watched one of his 'buzzards' fire something straight into the air while another hovered and held his hand up to his ear.

"JARVIS. Get me in on that line. Radio, satellite, whatever it is I wanna hear it an hour ago."

"Configuring now."

Panic started to tease at Tony's nerves. One of his guys couldn't be seen and his scanners weren't picking anything up.

Above him, fire erupted in the sky in waves of red and violent orange.

The two remaining thugs darted off in opposite directions.

At Tony's feet a second explosion propelled him up and right into the cloud of flames.

His suit protected him from the fire.

But then came the fall.

"And so ends our demonstration for the day Ladies and Gentlemen. If our esteemed performers could exit stage left we will have a brief Q and A period followed by snacks in the lobby."

It should have been air rushing through his ears while gravity yanked him down.

But JARVIS was trying to tell him something important.

"Iron Man! Report!"

His boots weren't working.

"They're running away, Cap!"

Why can't his boots fire? What is JARVIS going on about now? What the hell is that pounding in his ears?

And why would there be snacks in the lobby?

Oh yeah, that's the sound of his heart beating out of control.

Huh.

There was more shouting, more yelling, more falling.

"TONY!"

Steve was yelling at him! What –

"Tony! No one can get to you fast enough. JARVIS says you're awake in there and your hand thrusters are fully operational but you aren't listening to him!" He sounds –

Scared?

Tony wasn't sure he said anything at all in response.

"FIRE YOUR THRUSTERS! DO IT NOW TONY!"

Something in Tony's brain snapped to attention and on instinct he had his hand repulsors flare to life.

They weren't so powerful he could fly.

Neither could they stop his fall.

But they were enough to survive.

Tony crashed with an empty cab, sprawled out to spread the force of his impact. As soon as he was stationary and one hundred percent certain he was breathing again (however difficultly) he sat up. He lifted his face plate just in time to see Steve barreling around a corner, coming straight for him as he tugged his own helmet off and tossed it to the side.

"Jesus! Tony! Are you okay?" In one easy fluid jump Steve was on the back of the cab himself helping Tony move from the wreckage.

Tony could have screamed. He could have shouted and cursed and possibly even cried – not that he ever would. Though it may have made him feel less like a vice was clamped around his heart. He was not okay. This was not okay. People attacked his friends, his home, HIM! Not okay. Freaking out in the suit and forgetting how to save himself was Not Okay. Shit. Was. Not. Okay.

"Tony?" Steve put a gentle hand on Tony's shoulder as they both stepped down onto solid ground.

Everything was not okay. "Did I pass the test?" Tony asked with a weary, halfcocked grin.

He would deal with Not Okay later.

For a moment Steve blinked at him before his features broke into a relieved but still worried smile and he laughed. The sound was broken and worn out, but genuine none the less.

And Tony tried to smile back. He really did.

But he was so damn tired of falling.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

Sleep was not happening for Steve.

It wasn't even a matter of couldn't.

He didn't want to try.

Natasha, as she had said in the field, was fine. Any burns were mostly superficial and she would need a new hair style but she had survived. Even still, Steve kept going over the scenario in his head. If he had been forced to make the call to extract her or not, could he have done it? Of course, he knew he would have. He never hesitates when making split second decisions in the heat of battle. But what those decisions would amount to later aren't always as easy to call. He decided, eventually, that if Tony had come up with a distraction tactic that he was sure would work, Steve would have trusted him to get her out of there.

He spent hours that night going over footage that Tony had yanked from any camera that could have possibly seen them.

Steve was still surprised that meant he had footage of every second of the fight – sometimes from different angles – even though at that point he really shouldn't have been any more.

Going with the whole 'test' theme, Clint had started calling them The Proctors. But their assessment of the situation on the field – Nat's assessment – had only been half right.

Steve played the communication JARVIS had intercepted again and again. The smooth voice of a snake oil salesman, complete with a faux accent that sounded like a bad jumble of about five different western European tongues, filled the study of the common floor every few minutes. Clint had said it reminded him of circus ringmasters. Natasha had turned the slightest shade of green the one and only time she listened to it.

Tony hadn't stuck around to give his opinion.

"And so ends…"

The attack hadn't just been a test.

"…our demonstration for the day."

Demonstration.

Someone was showing off; proving they could give the Avengers a run for their money and making a damn good spectacle of it.

A cracked and tired voice spoke quietly behind Steve. "JARVIS run a voice analysis for us. But mute all output for now."

He turned around to find Natasha striding in, wrapped in a silky floor length robe covered in a yellow and red floral pattern, a steaming mug clutched in her hands and her damp hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looked sufficiently bleary eyed but had a small smile when she came around and looked down at Steve. She propped herself against the desk he was sitting at and sipped her tea.

"Can't sleep either?" He asked quietly.

Natasha blinked at him a moment, a look of surprise on her face. "You're kidding right?"

"N-no?" He leaned back in his chair, noting the ache in his muscles and joints, barely perceptible but there. It had certainly been a long damn day if he was feeling it.

"I've been asleep since eight thirty."

"So then…"

"It's morning, Steve. The sun will be coming up in about an hour or so."

He dropped his head into both hands then dragged them slowly down his face, exhaling a heavy breath. Even though he'd honestly had no intention of sleeping, being faced with just how long he had been awake was kind of a downer. "Is there coffee made?" The caffeine wouldn't do anything for him but the taste, warmth, and aroma would help a little. "It's just that there's still…"

Natasha held up a hand and cut him off. "There is and you aren't having any. I'm sure there's still loads to do with all of this information, but you know what? It will still be there when you wake up. JARVIS, can you lock Steve out of all Avengers files for five hours?"

"That operation can only be performed by Mr. Stark or Captain Rogers himself."

She sipped quietly at her tea while leveling Steve with a pointed look.

For a long moment they stared each other down. Steve, initially, had no intention of giving in. He'd gone longer with less sleep. Hell, before moving into the tower a couple months before that he had operated just fine on next to no sleep at all every single night.

But then he remembered what those months felt like compared to his time on the road and temporary stint staying with SHIELD.

Steve sighed.

"Do what she says. Five hours."

Natasha smirked slightly, but it was more sympathetic than triumphant. "Good boy." She said with a pat to Steve's arm after the quiet beep of the AI complying sounded.

The displays all dissolved into empty space, Steve blinking once to get his eyes to adjust to the darker lighting.

Honestly, Steve didn't even have the energy to roll his eyes. He stood and stretched, giving Nat a half hearted glare when she wolf whistled at him.

"Hold down the fort. I'll be back in five hours."

"I think we can all manage for that long."

Steve left her there, trudging through the hall and living room while rubbing his face and stretching his neck in slow, steady rotations. As soon as the elevator doors were shut he leaned heavily against the back wall and stared at the control panel. He had to go up one level to his floor – the one right below Tony's empty and messed up penthouse.

Fuck.

Tony.

Steve had done everything he could the latter half of the night to avoid thinking directly about Tony and specifically what he must have been going through as he fell. It wasn't that he didn't want to. It was that every time he did it was ALL he could focus on. He had thought about the red and gold streak in the sky, the feel of his legs and the pounding of his feet on the pavement as he ran as fast as his body would allow. He had remembered the pathetic thought that maybe he could catch him and the bitter realization that even if he could make it to him in time that wouldn't help in the slightest. And Steve would have been crushed in the process.

The helplessness he had felt, not for the first time in his life, weighed heavily in his stomach.

But beyond all of his own fears or thoughts, was the knowledge that Tony had panicked. He had frozen in the face of very real threat and Steve new all too well how debilitating that could be just when the threat was a figment of his imagination.

And now he didn't have to guess how bad it was when it was real.

The doors of the elevator slid silently open and he found himself staring at the hall that led to Tony's workshop even though he didn't remember giving any commands.

"That's not your floor, Steve." As soon as he stepped foot into the hall Natasha's voice broke through the system, chiding him.

He stared up at the ceiling with a frown. "Are you watching me?"

"Yes." She said without any remorse whatsoever.

"Cheater."

"Spy." And yeah okay, she had a point. But her voice softened. "Maybe you can convince him to rest too."

"I'll do my best." But Steve wasn't making any promises.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

Nothing was ever quite the same kind of chaotic as Tony's workshop after something went tits-up. Whether it was a project, a relationship, a meeting or a critical failure in the suit, Tony's manic side swung into full gear and took over. Everything needed to be fixed, perfected, made as invulnerable as he could possibly manage and he couldn't stop. He might miss something. Fabricators ran in the distance. Half a dozen simulations ran on his software – battle scenarios, sensor recalibrations, backups for his backup systems. Spread across three different tables were torn apart pieces of five different suits he was trying to integrate into one. Each had its flaws and if he left those behind maybe he could put something together that would fucking work.

He felt a bit like Frankenstein.

"Sir. The mock up for the Mark – "

"Ah ah ah. No numbers JARVIS, just put it here."

Millions of tiny pinpricks of blue light cascaded down through the air like rain, settling in the form of a suit over the table Tony was standing at. He gestured at it with open palms then pulled his hands apart to explode all of the pieces until they were suspended in the air just a few inches away from where they would all fit together. He took each piece in turn and examined it, grabbing a stylus and scribbling notes on a tablet. "Weapons capacity?"

"Down by sixty-three percent."

"Maneuverability."

"Within acceptable parameters."

He grabbed the chest plate and expanded it, scrutinizing the internal power supply and examining the way it was wired to its own miniature repulsors. "Speed?"

"Fully armored speed comparable to previous models. Individual pieces at seventy-six point nine percent of projected outcomes."

Tony clapped his hands and the whole thing collapsed. "Not good enough hot shot. Try again."

"Might I suggest a lighter weight configuration of the external materials?"

That would increase his vulnerability but the damn thing was meant for emergencies only in the first place. "Go ahead. And throw out the anti-missile array while you're at it."

"Sir, that would decrease – "

"Don't care. Get it done." He dismissed the projections with another wave then stuck his hands back into the parts in front of him.

Wires were everywhere. Bits and pieces of metal and nuts and bolts were almost as scattered as his thoughts were. There were circuit boards he didn't remember putting together and microchips he almost accidentally swallowed. He yanked two sensor arrays out of their respective suits and started cross wiring them, holding the extended lengths of cables between his lips.

"Cah we ruh a hess oh ees?"

"Any results would be insignificant, Sir. The program to find why your current sensors were unable to detect anything has not yet completed."

"Uck." He finished wrapping a wire in electrical tape and reached for his soldering iron.

"We may be able to finish faster if the repulsor backup program is paused."

"Ooh – juss – "Tony spit out the wires still in his mouth. "Just keep everything running as-is." He looked up at the screens on the far wall, checking on the various outputs and statuses he had available so far. Maybe if they couldn't calibrate the sensors to find that specific cloaking mechanism, he could make his own and then calibrate shit from there.

Yeah. That seemed like a great idea.

He spun around on his heels, spliced together sensors still in his hand, and moved to the only surface that wasn't currently serving as an Iron man graveyard. Not that it was an empty surface of course, just less cluttered than all the rest. One by one he began tossing things aside, tools and broken bits, burnt out microchips and obsolete circuit boards. After making room for his sensors first Tony lifted a small sheet of metal he had been doing heat diffusion tests on and paused.

The spiral bound book beneath the plate should not have been there.

Ok, it wasn't that it shouldn't have been there at all but it certainly shouldn't have been there without Steve.

Tony set the plate aside and hopped onto the table, wiping his hands on his jeans before carefully picking up Steve's sketchbook. Even though Steve was down there seemingly all the time and constantly sketching something while simultaneously asking Tony about his work (and he had tried to explain the wavelengths and frequencies of indicator lights, he really had, but there's only so far you can go in plain English when it comes to physics) Tony had never really stopped and looked at what he had been drawing. He'd always been too occupied or busy or too… something.

Tony suddenly found himself wishing he'd slow down a little more often.

The sketchbook was very thick and well used, the edges of some pages extremely worn. The first pages were covered in sketches of people he recognized from the old news reels, Steve's squadron, his friends, and one he assumed was Steve's mother. It looked different from the others, softer somehow. Slowly images from the modern world began to take up space between those of memories. Buildings and objects and scenery from all over at first until finally people too. Tony's was the first face to make it onto the pages, then Natasha and eventually the others. The images of Steve's old life never went away, they just became less frequent and less rushed. The early ones had looked like he had been desperate to get them down onto the paper but the more he drew each face the more relaxed and fluid the lines had become. Tony was impressed with some of the more technical drawings, specifically the one that resembled the elementary circuit board he had used to show him the basics. The labels were crude and a few things out of place but it meant Steve was understanding more than Tony gave him credit for. He flipped through months of sketches all in pencil and charcoal, until he spotted something completely different, and stopped.

There was a sketch of a coffee cup, sitting on the edge of sink, looking like the color was bleeding out of it. There was no actual pigment, just various lines and smudges of all sorts for definition and shadow.

But to Tony, the intention was clear.

The cup itself was still wholly intact and the liquid inside of it peacefully still. But the idea of its color was being drained, dripping into the sink it sat next to like it was bleeding.

It wasn't the only picture like that.

Flowers and statues followed. Then there were people too. Pepper and Natasha in their gowns from the fundraiser a week earlier, smiling but with shadows of nondescript color dripping from their jewelry and the fabric of their dresses. A sketch of Thor from a sharp angle with Mjolnir hanging at his side, hair swept back with the wind but cape pulled down as if it was drenched and dripping. There were others, Bruce and Clint and strangers in drained fabrics that Tony could easily imagine were a vibrant sight to behold in person. And then the last one, the Iron Man suit propped up like a rag doll against a wall, melting – but not quite – into a pool of what could have been blood if he hadn't seen all the rest of the pictures already.

But it was empty.

Of all the last groups of sketches, there weren't any of –

"Sir. Sensor calibrations for the cloaked devices have completed."

Tony's head snapped up. "Did we nail the bastard?" He flipped the sketch book closed and left it there on the table to make a beeline for his screens. Data and statistical readouts flew across the monitors, to Tony a kind of art in their own right.

He spared a brief glance back at the table where Steve's book lay, and smiled sadly before diving headfirst back into his work.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

"You should put a chute in that thing."

"Oh my god. That is a brilliant idea I can NOT believe I never thought of it." Tony's sarcasm was so thick Steve could nearly taste it. He let the door close quietly behind him, walking into the workshop and glancing around warily at the pieces of armor that were everywhere. Steve had to step over a pile of what he hoped were scraps in order to get to the work table Tony was hunched over.

"Tony." He started quietly.

"Sorry." Tony waved a tool absently in the air without looking up. "It's a perfectly valid…" he grunted while twisting something he was working on "idea. Just not one that works." Steve looked down at what he was doing. In Tony's right hand was a small ratchet, his left – trembling slightly – was holding a dozen different wires. He'd never seen Tony shake like that before and his worry kicked into high gear.

"Why not?" He tried to sound less concerned than he was, but it didn't seem to matter. Tony wasn't paying just a whole hell of a lot of attention anyway.

A wire slipped out of Tony's fingers and he didn't seem to notice.

"Too heavy – " he said with a hard hit to the side of the armor "-for anything that would actually fit in the space I have. Which isn't a lot, let me tell you. I'd need something too big and too thick because of the suit and I can't just eject from the damn thing because it would wind up who the fuck knows where and some bad guys will get their hands on it. Or worse, SHIELD." Before Steve could even parse together a response Tony snapped up, eyes a little unfocused and shook his hands free. "Oh! Oh I could initiate a self-destruct program. Make something that would over load all the systems, lock all the firing mechanisms…"

"Tony." Steve tried again, reaching for him but Tony had spun away.

"JARVIS, make a note."

"Tony you can't ma-"he stepped around the table to follow him.

"We'll work out the details later but we need to do an overload fail safe we can – "

After navigating around more piles of parts and over an exceptionally thick electrical cord Steve finally made it to Tony. He reached out and grabbed him carefully by the arms. "Tony. Stop. Please." Under Steve's touch he could feel that the tremor in Tony's fingers didn't stop there. A low level shiver went all the way through his body and everything about his stance seemed pulled taught and ready to snap.

For the first time since Steve came into the workshop, Tony halted, and made eye contact. "Do you know it's almost five a.m.?" Steve asked.

A brief look of confusion flashed in Tony's eyes before he shook it away. "Do you?"

Steve smiled softly at that and nodded. "I had to be told myself, but yes."

He almost thought he'd gotten through, when Tony didn't immediately argue or try and escape his grasp. But then something behind Steve beeped and caught Tony's attention. The distant, unfocused look was instantly back. "Doesn't matter. Work to do." He did slip out of Steve's grip then, moving over to the wall of monitors and mumbling something that didn't make any sense to Steve.

He looked around the shop, at all the exposed pieces of Tony's armor, all the tables and surfaces that had been completely void of anything just a day and a half earlier. "Just how many things have you been working on down here?"

There was silence for a moment, then Tony shrugged without looking back.

"Mr. Stark has six physical projects laid out at the current time and nine programs being written. There are four simulations running and two new suit configurations being put together."

"What the hell, JARVIS!"

Steve blinked in shock, not just at the numbers but that he'd been given them so easily.

"I would apologize, sir. However you programmed me to respond to Captain Rogers request as if they were your own."

That was…

That was huge.

But Steve had more important things to deal with.

"JARVIS shut down these monitors for just a moment." Steve was not above taking whatever advantage he could.

"Damn it, Steve. I – "

"Tony." Third time's the charm. This time he put his hand on the other man's shoulder and put just enough pressure to guide him to turn around so they were face to face. "You need sleep."

Tony's response was a dangerous mixture of anger and desperation. "I can't sleep! I have to fix this. I have to make it better. I have to – "

"You aren't making anything better like this." Steve looked at him, his brow knit tight in concern and saw all the fears Tony felt. He saw it in the line of his shoulders and the bags under his eyes, in the worn and pronounced wrinkles in his skin and the fire in his gaze.

And Tony looked back. While Steve had no idea what he saw, whatever it was apparently got through. He slumped with a weary sigh. "I can't sleep." Tony repeated, eyes closed momentarily.

"Then don't. Trust me, I get that." Steve tried to smile, but it felt too forced and he dropped it. "We'll go upstairs and do something else. I don't know, watch a movie or something. Aren't you always telling me you're keeping a never ending list of things I need to see?"

Tony huffed a halfhearted laugh and nodded. "The list grows every day." He sounded even more tired than he had just moments before.

"I don't know what's on your list but Clint keeps telling me about Star… star something." He moved his hand to Tony's back, resting between his shoulder blades in order to lead him out of the workshop.

"Star Wars. Or Trek. Oh! Transparent aluminum!" For a moment Steve thought he had lost him again, but… "No. You know what never mind. It can wait."

"Good." Steve said with a genuine smile this time, still having no idea what Tony was on about.

"But the three Star Wars films will take a dedicated afternoon and it'll be a week of couch potato evenings to get you properly introduced to Star Trek."

"Duly noted." They stepped into the elevator and Steve finally dropped his hand from Tony's back though neither stepped away. "What would you suggest then?" His lips quirked into a lopsided smile aimed right at Tony.

It was returned with a smirk. He thought it over for the entire elevator ride, finally snapping his fingers as the doors slid open. "Got it. JARVIS, queue up Robin Hood for me and Captain Tight pants. I'm gonna go change and wash my face. Five minutes."

Steve rolled his eyes though his smile never faltered and watched Tony stride away. He noted the tension still in his stance but was relieved to hear that his words were a little less strained.

"Which version, sir?"

"Mel Brooks!" He shouted with a flourish just before disappearing down the hall. Steve laughed quietly, settling in on the overstuffed couch.

Twenty minutes later, with the lights off and Robin Hood swimming across the English channel, Tony slumped against the already slumbering Steve, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony was warm.

Tony was - thick quilt on a cold day, never wanna move from that spot or he'd never be that cozy again – warm. There was a crick in his neck and either his right or his left foot was asleep (he honest-to-god could not tell which one in that moment) but he couldn't be bothered to give two shits. His face was pressed against something solid and strong and the steady rhythm in his ear was like a siren luring him back to sleep.

He was fairly certain he was in heaven. There was no way he hadn't died of exhaustion while standing up because he had never felt so peaceful in his life.

The more conscious he became though, the more light filtered through his eyelids.

And that was annoying.

The richness of the blue sky caught his attention first. Angled as he was, Tony could see the far wall of the living room and ceiling and nothing but a cloudless day through his windows. The lines of everything were blurry but good-god that blue was pretty. Tony sighed happily and tried to snuggle in deeper and wait patiently for his eyes to focus on the world around him. When he moved something solid around his middle tightened just a hair. Tony blinked again, and looked down. Even through the blurred vision of his not quite awake state he could make out the smooth, tight lines of that beefy arm.

Taking a deep breath, Tony reassessed his situation.

And promptly –

Failed to panic.

Which was strange. He felt like he should be panicking. But the fight or flight response he was so accustomed to just wasn't kicking into gear. It was almost as if it was having a nice little lie in right along with Tony.

And apparently Steve.

Because that was most certainly Steve he was basically laying on top of, head still resting on a perfectly chiseled chest, body turned almost sideways, nestled between Steve's legs – one of which was stretched off of the couch. The slow rise and fall of Steve's chest, along with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, made Tony's decision a fairly easy one.

Just – thirty more minutes.

Then he would take time to panic.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

Steve awoke to the rich aroma of fresh brewed coffee and the heavy sound of Tony's bare feet walking on the wood floor. As he opened his eyes and stretched out with a well-rested groan, Tony leaned against the arm of the couch, holding out a red cup. Steve could tell just by the smell it was exactly how he liked it.

"About damn time you learned to appreciate the true awesomeness that is this couch."

Steve gave a playful huff and grin in response around the rim of his mug. Morning – well, afternoon more than likely at that point – was a welcome sight when he was so well rested. Steve tried to remember how he had fallen asleep, but images and memories from his dream, brilliant with deep reds, rich browns and electric blues, kept a firm hold of his attention.

Steve's smile widened into his coffee.

He finally knew what it was like to REALLY dream in color.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

Tony can be a little obsessive.

Just ask – well – anyone who has known him longer than a week. But don't ask JARVIS because if he was allowed he would give you facts and figures and exactly what version of Iron Man Tony is actually on at any given moment and not even Tony was willing to face that harsh reality.

But when he gets an idea in his head, he doesn't let it go.

For almost a solid week he read reviews, did research, and flew nearly completely around the world twice just to talk to half a dozen artists.

Then he made his order.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

Some days were better than others.

Some days Steve got up and never thought twice about going out for his run. He was in charge of his own thoughts and a master of the technology available to him. His cell phone was not daunting, the computers he used were user friendly, and he was constantly (however slowly) learning more advanced ideas whenever he had the chance. Tony had even built a small robot and thrown together some software for him to learn the basics of robot programming after Steve had asked how dumm-e and U worked. Those were good days, spent smiling more often than not and where memories were more sweet than bitter.

But then there were the days the ATM won.

Or the ones where a song came on a PA system about him or his life. There was a reason he almost always kept his headphones in when he was out in public.

The worst ones though were the mornings he caught a particularly beautiful sunrise and remembered he had no one left to share it with.

Those were the days he felt the most alone.

There was the job too, chasing leads into the depths of the city and coming up for breath completely empty handed. They had a name, 'Masters', and it was literally all they had on the attack from a few weeks before. After days of chasing a ghost, they still had nothing.

You throw all of those problems together and it makes for one really shitty afternoon. Since returning to New York in the later part of summer Steve had been forced to get used to the near constant recognition. Whenever he was stopped in the street or just generally out minding his own damn business, he would still put on his best smile, shake hands, do the polite thing before finding an excuse to slip away. But he always felt so drained after, like every person he talked to somehow zapped some of his seemingly infinite energy away.

Which is why on a cold, and particularly dreary afternoon in early November, Steve Rogers snapped.

The blogs would all say "Captain America loses it" and there would be headlines and ticker tape on the bottom of news channels asking "Is Modern Life too Much for a 1940's War Hero?" The one that will hit him worst though will simply say "Not Adjusting".

And it's the worst one because he was adjusting. It's just kind of hard to look one hundred percent a-okay one hundred percent of the time. Especially when you have people and cameras following you everywhere you go. They never reported on the good days. Only the times he couldn't find a reason to smile, or the distant stares at war memorials, or when they caught him arguing with technology.

Oh yeah, and when he smashed a camera onto the concrete into almost unrecognizable pieces.

To be fair, the guy had been harassing him for three days. Steve would consider that the end of anyone's rope, really.

During his third hour in the gym – the private gym, with no cameras other than Tony's and no other people other than those Steve actually wanted to put up with for more than a few minutes – he started to think maybe he had over reacted.

Maybe.

Just a little.

"Maybe we can get Tony to make us isolated data wipers. Just a little, tiny thing that you can press to their camera and it wipes all their images and totally fucks up their memory cards so it won't hold any more. You can just sleight of hand them in place while being all friendly." Clint ran a towel through his hair before shaking his head, any remaining sweat flicking about the room. "Less collateral damage that way, and bonus, they won't be pissed while you're still standing there."

"That's a dirty trick and just as reprehensible as what I've already done. That equipment is their personal property. Besides, I'm sure outside of their line of work they are still decent human beings."

"No, they're scum sucking bottom dwellers and they're profiting off your misery. You don't owe them shit."

The sparring dummy Steve was wailing on groaned and swayed with the force of his impacts. "I didn't say I owed them anything Clint –"

"They also don't have any right to your privacy, public figure or not. And when you're not out there either saving lives or purposely doing something WITH the public? It's still your privacy to be respected, even outside the tower. Besides, I promise Tony's either thought of making something like that or has one already he's just hiding from us."

"What am I hiding?" Steve looked back to see Tony standing behind Clint in a sharp, well cut charcoal suit with a baby blue shirt underneath. His rhythm with the dummy faltered as he stared and Tony's grin indicated he completely noticed that.

"Your porn collection." Clint said with a flat tone. He stood up and slung his bag over his shoulders.

"Bah. I'm not hiding that from anyone." As Tony talked, Steve forced himself to move again. Left. Right. Around. Kick. "It's all on the open servers. Full of lots of… hot… sweaty... " If Steve had been paying any attention at all he would have seen the hungry gleam in Tony's eyes.

On his way out, Clint gave Tony a solid punch to the arm and a glare that Steve barely noticed. "You need to come eat, Steve. It's way past dinner time and I'm fairly certain that Thor's cooking lessons went better today than last week." There hadn't been any fire alarms yet, so that was actually a possibility.

"What's he teaching Natasha to make today?" He asked without breaking his movements.

"Should I call the biohazard team? I have one on standby you know."

"Ha. Ha. She's not that bad, Tony." Of course, Clint was being incredibly generous. The experience had been fairly awful. Master assassin and hell in high heels she may be, but gourmet chef was not on Natasha's list of strengths. "Seriously though. Food. Leave that dummy alone for a bit. It didn't do anything to you."

"Maybe in a little while."

There was a pause where Steve thought Clint might say something else but a moment later he heard the door open and close and he was gone.

For several minutes Steve continued on in silent focus, picking up the pace and the strength of his attacks with every other breath until the rest of the world seemed to blur away. At one time in his life such a state would have cleared his mind, gave him a drive and a purpose to think of nothing but his actions. But maybe it was how naturally these movement came to him now, or perhaps just the sheer amount of SHIT beating around in his head, but things still bled through. The song he had heard using his name to justify going to war; a garden on his run that morning that had more flowers in more colors than he even knew existed a few months before; the flash of a camera, the unsolicited Q&A, the feel of heavy plastic crumbling in his fist and the shattering of a glass lens on the concrete beneath his feet.

He blinked.

The padding was starting to tear away from the sparring dummy.

And Tony was standing on the other side, silently watching.

"Are they coming after me for the camera yet?" He slowed down but didn't stop. Still too much energy left.

Tony made a face and waved it off. "Oh he'll probably send a bill and my team will just tell him to fuck off."

"I don't know how you do it, Tony."

"That could be any number of things. You're going to have to narrow it down a bit for me."

"Live your life in the spotlight. The constant attention and focus on everything you do, people acting like they know you. Like they know everything about you. And then the ones who are just sitting there, waiting for you to fuck up. Like you're some kind of zoo animal who only exists for their entertainment."

"Wow Steve. Tell me how you really feel."

Steve huffed before landing a blow that may or may not have started to crack the base structure. "Come on, you know what I mean. I've seen the reports on your life from before Iron Man and after, and they aren't really all that different. Although to my understanding, you are different. Very different, from the way you were before. But even I let myself be swayed by what the media had to say before I met you, and I still regret that." It was one of the things he'd been angry with himself over for a while actually. Steve was usually so good at reading people, at pinpointing their nature after even just the briefest of meetings. But he had not only missed the mark with Tony, it had been because he let the words of others influence his judgment. And despite the fact that Tony constantly insisted Steve's first impression was the right one, Steve knew, without a doubt, he was wrong.

"Well, while I'm glad you saw the light of my shining personality eventually, I can't say they're completely wrong. I was an ass hole then and I'm an ass hole now. I've always drank too much and my brain to mouth filter is about as useful as a colander holding sand." Tony spoke flippantly, as if he was used to saying those things about himself on a regular basis.

"They're NOT right. You're not an… you're not always an asshole."

Tony laughed. "Nice catch there hot-stuff."

Steve glared at him and started hitting harder.

The smile on Tony's face vanished. He started absently tapping at a punching bag near his shoulder. "Ok, look, that was the wrong thing to say. Sorry. It's just that I've lived with this, literally, since I was born. My birth was not a by-line in the society section. It was front page news. Maybe not a headliner but still right up there for the whole world to see. And then growing up, well, you met Howard. Larger than life and always had a bridge to sell someone? We didn't go a week without something written about the Starks."

"So you've never known anything different?"

"Nope. I can't tell you what you need to do differently to cope because I don't know what it's like not to be scrutinized every second of my life. That's just… my life. The media circus is as much a part of it as Stark Industries or the Avengers. It's not particularly a part I like but I'm used to it. Which is why they're generally right when they portray me as an asshole. I don't hide."

"They're not right about -"

"They're mostly right."

With one final hit the crack Steve had put in his sparring dummy a moment before finally gave out. Wood and fabric went flying, though the bulk of the chaos was contained by what was left of the padding. Steve was breathing hard, staring the broken structure down with a frown. But the exertion he felt was not from his actions. Immediately he started looking for something else, anything else in the gym, to expel the rest of his energy on.

On the other side of the broken equipment Tony groaned and rubbed his hands in his face. "Fuck. I'll get this right eventually." He ignored the wood chip on his shoulder and put on a lopsided grin. "Still have frustrations to vent? After all the crap I keep saying… I could put on the suit. We could go a few rounds." His wink was overly exaggerated and one hundred and ten percent Tony Stark.

For a moment, Steve stared at him.

And then his shoulders crumpled with a small laugh. He was drained and exhausted and had been acting like an ass most of the day himself. But Tony had kept trying, kept pushing. So Steve figured he could try a little harder for Tony.

"No, Tony. I think the suit you have on now is much preferable at the moment." Steve gave him a quiet little smile as he sat down and started to tug at the ends of the wraps on his hands. Before he looked down to pay attention to what he was doing he caught the way Tony stood up a little straighter, his own grin becoming less of a show and much more genuine. "And you aren't getting it wrong it's just…" He sighed, tossing his hands up and letting them fall across his knees where they rested, waiting to be unwrapped.

"You can't ignore it completely and they're never going to go away." Tony's voice was soft. He took a few steps until he was standing right in front of Steve then dropped slowly down onto one knee, grabbing Steve's right hand and carefully removing the cloth. His touch was gentle and even though the calluses of his skin was a rough texture, it was welcome. "I wish I had a better answer for you, I really do. But what you can do is just keep being honest with yourself and go about your life. The people out there behind the cameras and the ones who are eating all of that crap up?" Even under the wraps Steve's hands were covered in tiny cuts and quickly purpling bruises. They would heal soon enough. "They don't matter. They don't know you and they never will know you. They think they do, and they will act like they do. But they don't, not any more than you know them."

"How can they possibly think they know me, though? They glorify Captain America and when I put on the uniform that's what I am, that's who I am. And I don't have a problem with them knowing that side of me. It's part of the job. But Steve…" He held out his now free right hand while Tony worked on the left, marveling at the number of colors skin could turn when damaged - the purples and blues and tiny hints of green. His hand didn't hurt, but his chest absolutely ached. "They don't know Steve. Every other day it's a report on how bad I'm coping, on how slow I'm taking to adapt – which I'm not! I think I'm doing just fine. But who would find that interesting? Who would want to know that person? All they ever do is catch me at my worst and pretend that's all I am."

Even though Steve's hands were both free of their bindings, Tony's touch lingered. "That's what you have me for." Steve looked up quickly and caught Tony's gaze with a cautious smile. "Us. Your friends. Because we know for a fact that's not all you are, it's barely even a tiny fraction of what you are. And we want all of you, even the bad parts that go around crushing the hopes and dreams of paparazzi everywhere by throwing their very expensive cameras on the ground."

When Steve pulled his hands away to rub his face, Tony took the opportunity to stand, brushing off his pants and suit. "Now. If I remember correctly Bird-Brain was saying something about food, and you need to take a break and regain all those calories you just burned up like a house on fire. I'm sure since Thor's helping Natasha's attempt at a meal won't be as toxic as the last time. Not that your iron stomach noticed of course."

Steve looked up at him with an exaggerated look of shock. "Are you really suggesting someone take a break and eat? To stop over doing it and take care of themselves?"

"Hey! Decades of being on the other side of it should make me an expert. Which, I am. At most things." Tony looked like he was second guessing that for all of two seconds before he shook his head, confident smile firmly back in place.

Steve rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Let me grab a shower and I'll be up."

"Fifteen minutes or less, Steve. Don't be late."

A moment later, Steve was alone.

But for once it wasn't the emptiness of being alone, he was just… in a room by himself. Because there were people upstairs waiting for him.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

"I must admit I still find myself shocked that a man of your status is not able to feed himself."

"I will have you know I am perfectly capable of feeding myself. It's called a phone and a credit card."

"It is not possible to sustain yourself on glass and plastic, my friend."

"Smartass."

Thor gave Tony a wide and toothy grin before turning his attention back to his pan of scrambled eggs.

"Besides," Tony offered, resting his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the bar. "There is a huge difference between capable and willing." He tried to reach over onto the counter to sneak a piece of bacon but got smacked with a wooden spatula for his trouble. For a moment their conversation devolved into making childish faces at each other until Thor broke into laughter.

"Are you sure I can't persuade you into learning? It is not only a useful skill to have for yourself but comes in incredibly handy to show your affections towards another." He wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis but Tony just stared at him with a flat look.

"Yeah, no. Me and making meals for others just don't mix." He reached for his coffee just as Bruce came shuffling into the kitchen, rubbing his face. His hair was a mess and he was wearing boxers and a long sleeve t shirt that was way too baggy for him.

Apparently he had heard just enough of the conversation. "He could show you how to make eggs benedict. Or whatever he calls them anyway." Bruce nudged Thor's hip with his own and snatched a bite of eggs right out of the pan with his fingers. "They're Steve's favorite."

Tony just barely managed to not spit out his coffee. "Excuse me?"

Bruce was silent, a conspiratory grin growing across his face while he ate.

"I could indeed! Though you spend no time on this side of the counter you certainly had the kitchen well stocked. I believe I saw a copper pot that would be – "

"No." Tony cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Just. Stop." He was still staring at Bruce in shock. Not because he didn't think along those lines, of course.

But because he had.

A lot.

"A little birdie told me how much time and effort went into someone's Christmas present and that you've never done that much work for a gift for anyone – ever. In your whole life. Money, yes, but anonymously and with very little thought."

Thor spooned his scrambled eggs onto two plates while Tony gaped at his friend, lost for a rebuttal.

There wasn't one.

Tony was smitten. Every day he found himself thinking about Steve more. When Steve wasn't around he wished he was. When they were together with other people Tony wanted the other people gone. No one else could just nod their head to get Tony out of the lab. And he thought, just maybe, he wasn't the only one thinking in that direction. There was the other day in the gym when neither of them had thought twice about the fact they had been holding hands, the morning they had slept so soundly together on the couch – even if Steve didn't seem to have realized their exact positioning. And they were always just… easy… together. Game nights they were always side by side, movies were watched leaned into one another, Steve asking questions about references he didn't understand and Tony offering unsolicited commentary at every other turn. Steve spent a huge chunk of his free time down in Tony's workshop, sometimes doing his own thing, sometimes engaging with Tony and whatever he was working on at the time. Some of Tony's favorite moments were the times he could get the man to smile, to laugh – that open and free laughter that Steve simply didn't do enough of. Tony loved it all. He wanted more.

He was just having a surprisingly difficult time figuring out how to ask for it.

"I'm gonna fire her."

"You can't fire Pepper. Stark Industries as it stands would implode within a week." Bruce was probably right.

No, definitely right.

"Wait. I thought Bruce was joking. Do you, in fact, intend to woo Steve?" There was a tone in Thor's voice Tony didn't pay much attention to as he was too busy letting his head drop heavily onto the hard surface of the bar.

Bruce, to his credit, tried to stifle his laugh. "He does. But I don't think he's worked up the courage for it yet." He started moving about the kitchen himself, getting things ready to make tea. "Have you?" And if that wasn't an accusation Tony was the queen of Sheba.

"We can stop having this conversation any second now." Tony groaned against the cold marble his face was pressed into.

The only sound in the kitchen for several breaths was the tiny noises of Bruce setting a kettle on to boil.

Until – "I don't know if that is such a wise idea."

Bruce sucked in a hiss of a breath and Tony jerked his head up to stare inquisitively at Thor. "Come again?"

Bruce glanced warily at Tony. "Thor, I don't think – "

"Please, hear what I have to say." He spoke softly – for Thor anyway – and he seemed genuinely concerned with the matter at hand. Tony didn't feel much more at ease about it, but he didn't try and stop him either. "I by no means think it would be a bad idea in principle. As a matter of fact I feel the two of you would make excellent companions as you are two of the most compatible shield brothers I have ever seen. You work in synch both on the field and off and the company is always more pleasant with the two of you present. You run this team side by side and complement each other's strengths almost perfectly."

"But…" Tony gestured for him to get on with his point, because there was a but coming and he had a feeling it was going to be a whopper.

For a moment Thor looked like he was trying to find the right words. "My assumption is that he is not the intended other half of your heart or the two of you would have long since joined." He knew that Thor was talking about soul mates and Tony did his best not to roll his eyes. "I do not know if the two of you have met them and lost them already or you are simply tired of waiting and I will not pry. But I do know this, if you are not each-other's long intended, attempting to form such an attachment may be more difficult and painful than you think."

Off to the side, Tony saw Bruce watching them both with caution, arms crossed and bottom lip caught between his teeth. He felt his skin start to crawl with the beginnings of anger and he leaned forward over the bar to point at Thor while he spoke. "The idea that being soul mates makes relationships magically better is a load of horse shit. There are people out there that don't give their other half the time of day, who sleep around and even purposely harm them despite every single instinct we supposedly have against that."

Thor shook his head, holding his hands out in a calming manner. "It's not that the relationship itself would be any easier or more difficult one way or the other. The connection of your life force does not change that. It's the acceptance of a relationship, without that connection, that may prove daunting."

"You're going to have to explain that to the under-evolved earthling."

"Please, I do not mean to insult. It's just… Steve is a warrior is he not?"

"I think we can all agree on that." Tony replied flatly.

"Warriors who have lost much in battle must be given time to grieve or they will lose themselves entirely. Steve has lost more than any of us can imagine, or even begin to understand, fighting for what he believes is right. That takes a toll on even the strongest of hearts that must be healed."

He knew that. He'd seen that. He saw the ways that Steve had expressed his pain, the little, subtle things he did. Tony had also seen how they were becoming fewer and less frequent, less violent reflexes to jerk away from people and more subtle twitches that Steve had much more control over. There was also his art, the slow and steady changes that were evident there. And he laughed more too. Tony had always tried to insert himself, to be there in his own way when he thought Steve might need him, but never, not once, had he opened up and actually said anything.

He wanted to change that for Steve. "But he's doing it alone! I don't want him to – He doesn't have to do it alone."

"No. He doesn't. But that is his choice. We have all been there for him over the last few months and slowly he is reaching out to us all. But consider this: if you had just lost everyone you had ever known between one blink and the next, how quickly do you think you would honestly be willing to make another attachment so strong and important to you. Especially after what happened so soon after he was woken from his sleep?" Thor's gaze softened impossibly further, a sad, knowing look in his eyes that made Tony's stomach churn with understanding. "Steve left one battle believing it to be his end and woke up to find the fighting had never ceased."

"But that's not – "

"It is, my friend. And now, for the harsh truth and the heart of the matter? In the time I have known you I have never seen you take a no graciously. Please. For both of your sakes, have patience. And try not to make him feel guilty if he simply is not ready." He didn't know if Bruce and Thor were still looking at him, what they might be thinking if they were, because Tony couldn't make eye contact with either of them any longer. There wasn't anything to say to that. He could argue, defend himself – lie. Because that is what it would be, a lie, to argue that Tony knew how to take no for an answer. Tony hated the word no and he knew that. A large portion of his personality revolved around not taking no for an answer. Ever. Even when Pepper had turned him down it had taken her actually quitting and finding another (temporary, of course) job for him to get the picture and make amends.

Silence, broken only by the slowly rising boil of Bruce's kettle, overtook them while the others waited for Tony to do or say something.

Objectively he understood that Thor was looking out for both of them. That in the time they had all spent together Thor had gotten to know them both well enough that he could not only surmise what Steve was going through, but that a rejection from Steve would be very bad for Tony. Knowing that didn't make it hurt any less though. Knowing that didn't keep the thoughts that he wasn't good enough from seeping in between Thor's words. Knowing that didn't stop him from hearing 'he's going to say no because you're not what he needs.'

It wasn't what Thor said.

But it was what Tony heard.

The high pitched whistle of the kettle suddenly pierced the air.

Jerking at the sound Tony slid off his barstool and headed towards the elevator, not bothering to look back when Bruce quietly called out for him.

He didn't need to stay there any longer and he certainly didn't want to face either of them at that moment. Just as the doors closed he heard, "Was that really necessary?"

"I'm afraid it was."

Whatever. He knew Steve just fine thank you very fucking much. And Steve was doing just fine. He was fine. He was good. He was… well he was better than he had been that was for damn sure. Sure there were days he had to drag him out of the gym, or try a little extra something to get that smile Tony loved out of him.

But he was better… overall.

Right?

"JARVIS. Is Steve awake yet?" Tony decided he was going to put some things in motion. He could be patient but he could also prove Thor wrong. Up the ante a bit, as it were. Maybe even ask Steve out as kind of a… casual thing.

"Captain Rogers has been awake for one point seven hours."

Tony scratched his chin. "Well where the hell is he?"

"He has not left his room since retiring earlier this morning."

Shit.

Tony made it to his penthouse and stood just inside pressing the palms of his hands hard against his eyes. "JARVIS, emergency override code Sierra Seven Four one, Kilo Three Romeo. Is he still in bed?"

There was silence for a moment

"Affirmative."

He slumped heavily against the back of his couch, and hung his head.

He knew, knew, that Steve was still struggling from time to time. But knowing it and actually being faced with it were two completely different matters entirely. The idea that he could help Steve, to be there for him when he needed someone, was all well and good right up until Tony had to figure out just what that meant. Because he had no fucking clue.

Tony could barely sleep through the night himself, haunted by nightmares and constantly working on his suits because they were never good enough. Because he wasn't good enough. How the hell was he supposed to help Steve when he couldn't help himself?

"Fuck."

Okay. New plan. Don't ask Steve out as soon as possible. Thor was right, damn it. But maybe Tony could find a way to let Steve know he was interested, to show him Tony was available and willing to be there for him in more than just a 'hang out and be buddies' kind of way (even if he didn't know what that would really mean yet) that didn't force an immediate yes or no but instead was just – something to think about.

But see, the problem with Tony is that he's always been an in the moment kind of man. And when Tony is in the moment, he often forgets important decisions such as that one.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

In four days it was going to be Thanksgiving.

In three days Thor and Bruce would be heading to Asgard.

In two days Clint and Natasha would be going overseas to parts unknown for Clint's first heavy op since Loki.

And in one day – well – no one wanted to chance travelling with a hangover – even a food coma induced one. So the next day would be reserved for recovery – just in case.

Steve tossed a bag across the kitchen which Nat ducked under and Clint caught perfectly. Then he tore it open and dumped the dry noodles into boiling water. Laughter filled the area, the kitchen, the living room – the whole floor. At the bar Thor was teaching Pepper an Asgardian card game that relied heavily on bluffing. (Pepper was already winning though Steve wasn't convinced she knew all the rules yet.) In the living room Tony, Phil and Happy were trying to one up each other with truly awful jokes and Bruce and Rhodey were happily setting the table while humming two completely different Christmas songs off key. Everyone was relaxed and comfortable in jeans and casual shirts all around. Natasha and Pepper both had their hair thrown back in messy buns to keep it out of the way when they helped in the kitchen and at some point someone had managed to pull Thor's back into a ponytail. It was a good look on him.

Relaxed was a good look on everyone.

He felt comfortable and happy. Steve laughed right along with all of his friends openly, loudly, and most importantly, every second of it was as genuine as it got. As far as the ups and downs of adjusting to his new life went, the downs may have been really low but the ups were becoming more and more frequent. They also made everything else worth it. He had a team he could trust and count on, friends he was growing to care a great deal for, and when it came right down to it, the modern times were certainly an improvement over the struggles of his own. His old times anyway. Steve was slowly getting to the point where he considered THIS to be his world now.

It made life in general much easier to handle.

Dinner was just the right kind of loud.

Clint and Natasha bickered like siblings. Thor, Happy, and Nat tried to teach everyone else drinking songs. Phil made the driest comments that had the entire table roaring. (Though Tony usually just rolled his eyes. Steve knew he liked him and was pretty sure it was just their… thing.) Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey told the best kind of embarrassing stories on Tony. Bruce was even able to get in on that and received a folded up napkin hat, a 'welcome to the 'Tony can't embarrass himself so he embarrasses others' club', and a peck on the cheek from Pepper. Natasha may have gotten a little indignant over the fact that she knew things too but they were technically classified so Pepper walked around and gave her a kiss as well. Any time Clint wasn't engaged in conversation he spent his time performing tick shots with his peas. Phil caught a couple of them mid-air which just made him get more creative. Every lull in the chaos, whenever the noise died down to quiet conversations – however temporarily – Steve found himself wholly engaged with Tony. Their topics were just as varied as they always were between the two of them, all over the place and often inspired by the most innocuous of comments. By the time the sun was setting low in the sky and the room gone mostly quiet around them they were so engrossed on the history of motorcycles (he really hadn't come to grips with the idea of crotch rockets) that Steve nearly jumped when someone laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Would you boys like to actually join the rest of us for a game or a movie?" Pepper smiled down at Steve while at his side Tony went silent.

They both looked from Pepper to each other.

The rest of the table had cleared out already, most of the dishes taken away. Steve was stuffed with good food, his face ached from smiling so much, and Tony was looking at him again with an easy smile and a single raised eyebrow waiting for his answer.

There really wasn't anywhere else he wanted to be.

"Maybe in a little while."

Pepper's smile seemed awfully pleased and she flicked Tony's ear – who swatted her away – on the way by.

They talked for hours and it was so good.

For most of the evening they remained together, joining the others for a while before heading down to the garage to show Steve just what Tony meant when he talked about the beauty that is Italian engineering. By the time they returned everyone was lounging around the living room, quietly watching the last thirty minutes or so of the original Miracle on 34th street. It was well after midnight at that point so the usual commentary from the peanut gallery was much more subdued than normal – present, but quieter. For once Steve had seen the movie already and wasn't too concerned with missing most of it. (Though it had been released after his crash it was on a short list of 'must see movies' from his time that one of the guys at the VA he visited had given him.)

Which meant he was free to only half pay attention.

About ten minutes after sitting down Tony's head fell heavily onto Steve's shoulder. The urge to press a soft kiss into his hair was so sudden and strong Steve nearly jumped up the moment he recognized it and just barely restrained himself.

It was the first time he consciously acknowledged what he'd been feeling for a while.

Because while he was growing to care for every member of their team – changing from team members to friends before he knew it (and he could easily see considering them family) – Tony was different. None of them had ever really tip toed around Steve, but Tony had gone beyond that. He never held anything back and only changed an approach to something when Steve explicitly asked him to. Admittedly that happened a lot but it was nice, that Tony treated as an equal from the start. He was also the first one Steve thought of when he wanted company or needed a laugh or just a break from the world.

They fought, from time to time, yet somehow managed to make their way back to each other's good graces I record time. Steve had never been one to hold a grudge but somehow Tony could make him go from pissed off to downright fond in the blink of an eye.

He was falling, head over heels, for the man snoring lightly against his shoulder and the guilt over that sat so heavy I his stomach in nearly made him ill.

Steve looked around the room. Though the movie was in its original black and white the light from the screen lit up the others just enough that he could see the strands of loose red hair in Natasha's face, the deep purple of Clint's favorite t-shirt, the bright green yarn woven around Thor's fingers as he played with it absently. (And where he had gotten that was anybody's guess.) Everywhere in the room were little hints of all the color in his life even there in the near darkness.

Steve had been able to see all of those colors before he ever met Tony.

Which meant he was yearning for something that wasn't his to enjoy.

It hurt more than he expected.

Maybe, deep down, Steve was just scared. He honestly didn't want to think of all the other reasons that was a bad idea.

It was a little while after the movie finally ended before people started moving. Slowly they stood, getting up and saying their good nights, shuffling off in their respective directions with yawns and full bodied stretches. It had been a long, full day and everyone was tired in the best possible way.

Steve waited until Thor made his way out, guiding a nearly asleep himself Bruce, before shaking his shoulder to try and rouse Tony.

"Hey. Get up. Time for bed." He said quietly.

Tony shifted the tiniest bit. "mmm… no."

Steve really couldn't help the soft laugh that shook his chest. "Come on Tony. You need to sleep in your own bed, not on the couch."

There was a soft groan while Tony stretched without moving his head. "Nah. 'M good. Just… Shh."

"Don't make me carry you."

Tony popped up and blinked sleepily at Steve. Then his gaze turned suspicious. "You're bluffing."

"Try me."

For a moment Tony seemed to consider this, eyes darting all over Steve's face, reading the teasing in his stare and the smirk on his lips. Finally he shrugged before dropping his head back onto Steve's shoulder with a yawn and a "good night."

Without word or another thought on the matter Steve twisted and slid one arm under Tony's knees while the other cradled his back. In one easy move he was standing with Tony clinging tightly to his shoulders and never once lifting his head. Halfway to the elevator, face now buried into Steve's neck, Tony asked. "Was this seriously meant to be a punishment?" His breath was warm on Steve's skin.

His grip tightened ever so slightly. "Shut up, Tony." Steve chided him quietly with absolutely no heat behind it.

They took the short elevator ride in silence and when the doors slid open Steve stood purposely on the threshold and lowered Tony to his feet. Once he was standing on his own they were dangerously close, Steve's hands still resting on Tony's arms.

"Go get some sleep."

Tony looked up at him with a smirk, eyes full of something that made Steve's breath catch. "If you hadn't noticed, I was already asleep and perfectly content to stay there."

They were still close – terrifyingly close – sharing each other's breath. Steve could see flecks of golden color in the details of Tony's dark brown eyes.

Tony's tongue darted out, barely noticeable, and licked his lips.

Steve took a deliberate step back, dropping his hold and pretending he didn't see the way Tony's face fell with disappointment.

"Good night, Tony."

The doors shut between them a second later.

It felt like a lifetime before he could find the breath to request his own floor.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

That…

That was not how Tony had seen the last five minutes of his evening playing out. In the short distance between the communal floor and his own (and he would like to point out – IN STEVE'S ARMS HOLY FUCK that was hot he should NOT be that intrigued by being carried so easily) Tony had come up with a dozen different scenarios, things to say, assurances to be made.

But every last one of them had involved Steve NOT being in the elevator when it closed again.

Split second decisions.

In the moment thinking.

Tony headed for the stairwell.

Before he made it to the door he was telling JARVIS to make sure the way was unlocked for him, hoping he would beat the elevator. It was a long shot – it was only one floor in an elevator capable of spanning the height of the tower in thirty seconds – but paid off. He slid to a halt, socked feet gliding easily across the smooth entryway of Steve's apartment, a few feet in front of the door. Practically bouncing with excitement Tony ran a hand through his hair and straightened his shirt. He could do this. This was a good idea. All Tony's ideas were good ideas, GREAT fucking ideas. That had completely and totally been a moment upstairs, a missed opportunity because he hadn't been paying enough attention. Wouldn't happen again.

He was paying attention now.

Tony wasn't used to staying still for any length of time without something to do, to focus on, especially when his nerves were on edge as he was about to jump off the deep end of insanity.

Fidgeting was not strong enough of a word for what he was doing.

The soft chime of the elevator's arrival sounded and Tony tried to calm his nerves, force himself to look casual and like he'd just happened by with every reason in the world to be there. He had a lot of practice, and by the time the doors started opening he was one hundred and ten percent sure he was pulling it off.

Steve was pinching the brow of his nose when he stepped into the apartment, not looking up until the doors were closed and the lights slowly brightening around them. When he did, and spotted Tony, Steve's shoulders jerked in his surprise, taking half a step back the way he had come. "What… How did you…"

"I took the stairs." Tony said with a shrug and a barely concealed grin.

The look of confusion on Steve's face didn't abate, though it did become much more amused. "I left you up there." He said with a slowly spreading grin while pointing at Tony. "You were supposed to be going to bed."

"Yeah. Well. YOU forgot something."

"What?"

Two long strides and Tony closed the distance between them. In his chest his heart hammered with excitement and possibility when he slid his hands up the hard lines of Steve's shoulders and around his neck to cradle his head, fingers slipping through soft hair. Steve's hands seemed to automatically rest on either side of Tony's hips. His grip was tight and he didn't push him away or try and step back. And Tony knew quite well just how easy that would be for the man. A deep red flush crept across Steve's cheeks, the soft light from the arc reactor made the blue of his eyes impossibly brighter and his whole face was frozen in surprise. Tony closed his eyes and lifted onto his toes just enough, one hand sliding further into Steve's hair as he pressed himself closer.

"Don't."

Steve's word was choked, hot breath against Tony's mouth so close he could almost feel his lips move and taste the plea on his own tongue. He froze there, on his toes, Steve's strong hands still holding him tight.

After an eternity of breaths shared, bitter and sweet and painfully enticing, Tony dropped back onto his heels. "Why?" There was nothing but confliction and a personal kind of ache in Steve's expression. Tony was so confused. He chose to focus on that emotion rather than anything that would be sure to break him. "Am I reading this wrong? Because I'm pretty damn good at reading situations and up until about five seconds ago I thought this was clear as glass." Admittedly, once he thought about it, Tony wasn't convinced there was anything in the world he could actually focus on in that moment that wasn't going to hurt.

"Tony…" Steve sighed, the sound broken and resigned. "You didn't read anything wrong. I –"

"Then what?" His hands were still carded in Steve's hair, terrified he'd never get a chance to be that close again.

"I just can't. Not y-"

"Is this because you can see in color?"

Steve jerked back and out of Tony's grip as if he'd been slapped.

A sudden chill overtook Tony. Oh this was just going swimmingly.

"How do you know that?" He didn't seem angry but where he had been loose and relaxed moments before – despite his earlier apprehensions – Steve had quickly gone stiff, tense, and more on edge than even Tony had been while waiting.

There was a very real possibility Tony was handling all of this very badly. "Because I'm a genius." He answered with a shrug. "And part of that, for me anyway, is that I'm incredibly observant." Tony stepped back further into the room to give Steve more space. At least he was somewhat conscious of how uncomfortable still standing as close as they were probably made him.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, a lock of it falling back into his face. He looked so fucking lost; Tony could have kicked himself. "How long have you known?"

Tony paused then, almost reluctant to show him. But he was already neck deep in this so might as well pull out the big guns. He slipped his phone out of his pocket, mindlessly putting in the code to unlock it and immediately turned it around so the home screen was facing Steve with no explanation.

None was needed.

Slowly, as Steve looked at the first picture he had ever sent Tony all those months ago, his face fell. Tension vanished from his shoulders and his eyes darted all over the picture of the sunset. He looked absolutely crestfallen.

To be honest, Tony didn't feel much better, gut twisting up in knots. He did his best not to look at his background when Steve reluctantly handed his phone back. A beautiful image full of vibrant colors was the last thing he wanted to see just then.

Steve was quiet for a long time, stepping into the apartment past Tony.

He wished he knew what he was thinking, what was going through Steve's head. Hell, Tony would have settled for knowing what TONY should have been thinking. It would have been a right step up from the panicked thoughts banging around up there.

"Then you know I…" Steve leaned against the back of his couch, one hand holding his own arm tightly. "You see this too. Like I do. The world as it is. You would have to in order to know. Which means you still have a soul mate, Tony and I'm not – "

"Jesus Fucking…." Tony blew up, the nerves and confusion, sorrow and disappointment had boiled together and finally found their release. "WHY the hell is everyone so hung up on the soul mate bullshit? I've seen in color my ENTIRE life. From day fucking one." Steve looked up at him then, eyes wide in shock. Tony kept right on going, his skin feeling tighter with every word. "And you know what? I'm pretty much convinced at this point that means I don't have another half. There is no one out there made specially just for me because who could or would want to fit with as many ragged edges as I have? Exhibit A, ladies and gentlemen." At that point he was feeling too bitter for his own good and gestured angrily at Steve.

"Tony – "Steve was trying, hands down by his side with a death grip on the back of the couch.

But Tony wasn't giving him a chance. "And there's another thing. How do you know your time on the ice didn't fuck with your biology? I seriously doubt you got introduced to some aquatic humanoid while stuck in the arctic. And I know you didn't meet your soul mate between waking up and moving to this tower because you sure as hell wouldn't be here with me right now if you had."

Steve pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, jaw set tight. His voice was strained. "It's not about that Ton – "

"Then what? What is it? Because you said I didn't read anything w-"

"Would you JUST SHUT UP A MINUTE?" Normally Tony would have called that the Cap voice, strong and in command – absolutely unbreakable. But there was a crack in it, a fissure where his pain leaked out around the anger and frustration. Tony took a step back. "God Tony. You can be so infuriating sometimes you know that?"

He blinked. Then he shook out his shoulders to recover from the shock while watching Steve slump back against the couch one more time. "It's a bonus feature." And okay yeah, that glare was kind of terrifying. "Shutting up."

The air between them was thick with tension, Tony fully aware that one of them was going to say the wrong thing and they would explode even more, quite possibly taking the entire tower with them.

Tony had no delusions on who was going to (had probably already) set that in motion.

Steve was still angry – bordering on Furious. Tony could see it in the set of his shoulders and the tick in his jaw, not to mention the way the back of the couch was straining beneath his grip again.

But he spoke quietly, none of his fury making it into his words. "I have been through so much over the last few years of my life – awake years anyway. The serum changed everything and war was hell – but then, this world I'm in now? Those changes have got nothing on waking up in a world I don't know, don't recognize, don't understand. And it's not just that I didn't, but I COULDN'T and I still sometimes can't because everything was suddenly in full color. Literally nothing was the same even my own skin was different." The more he spoke the less tense his body became, but what replaced it – resignation – was far worse. "And I was so alone." He looked up at Tony then, the same look in his eyes that Tony recognized from the photo in his file. The one from when he had first woken up.

Hollow.

Tony forced himself to look away.

"My friends and any family I had left – all long gone. Nothing was the same and I wasn't handling it well at all. I'm still not. Not as good as I should be anyway." Tony was still watching him from the corner of his vision, too worked up to make direct eye contact – and caught the cautious smile. "And then there was you. Tony Stark, the man with an answer for everything, a dozen different billion dollar ideas before breakfast and a smile that knocked me off my feet. You gave me a home, a – a safe place to just learn how to exist again." He paused, looking down at his hands then. "Modern life may have a giant leg up on where I came from but I don't think – I know – I wouldn't have made it this far without you, without your friendship and support and your stupid jokes and your inability to sugar coat anything. But I'm still fighting this, Tony. Everyday. Every day is a struggle to get out of bed and face the world, face my own fears and my own weaknesses. I get up and I do it anyway but it's still just so – I can't put all that extra weight on you."

Tony should have comforted him, said something reassuring, helpful. But the bitterness of rejection still stung.

And Tony's always been an ass.

"Because you don't think I can handle it." He will argue with his dying breath that he kept the ache in his heart out of his voice.

Even if the way Steve's look softened was evidence to the contrary. "Because you shouldn't have to."

Tony turned then, looking at Steve fully. His own hands were down at his side fists clenched tight and his back ram rod straight. But Steve – Steve was completely open, hands resting, palms up on his knees, revealing everything. Tony had dug in deep and ripped him apart, the pain of it all written clearly across Steve's face. He wasn't holding anything back.

The tingling in his arms from the tightness of his fists vanished the moment he let go. But before Tony could say anything Steve started again.

"And yeah, maybe it's a little bit of the soul mate thing too. Because I've seen the struggles you're coping with and I do and will continue to do whatever I can to help. But you deserve someone better than what I have to offer. Someone made for you, who's meant to be by your side."

Tony felt like he was being split in two, unable to pinpoint which was stronger: the pain of rejection or the bitterness - like a child again, pissed off at the reasons and the rest of the world. "Don't you get it?" He nearly shouted. "I don't want someone perfect for me!" He moved closer, facing everything head on. "I don't want a soul mate, Steve! I want you. Just you. All of you." When Steve's expression shifted to a whole new level of pain and regret Tony pushed on, coming to rest right in front of Steve, to hold him lightly by the shoulders. "The good the bad and the still in bed at seven am because the world is a scary place. I want to bring you breakfast that I didn't cook while I convince you it's not as terrifying as you think out there and for you to drag me out of the workshop when I've forgotten what day it is and convince me food is a better option." Steve's bottom lip was starting to shake. "I want to take you to dinner in Paris while you tell me stories on all your old friends. Steve, there are countries in this world with colors you've never even imagined." Tony might have been shaking too but the blurred vision was far worse. "Shouldn't what we want out of our lives be more important than destiny or whatever bullshit is 'meant-to-be'?"

For a long time they both stood there, Tony holding on to his last shred of hope that Steve would understand, that he would get through to him somehow, that his words had mattered.

But he saw it, before Steve said anything, the way he suddenly couldn't look Tony in the eyes any more, looking down and away. Tony wanted to melt into the floor.

"I'm sorry Tony."

He slid to the side, out of Tony's grasp. Tony was frozen in place, hands in the air and slowly closing before he dropped his arms. There was a tightness in his throat he couldn't swallow away.

Through all of his life Tony had seen and been through so many things that shook his world, death and pain and beaten down time and time again. But he always got up and kept going, and always knew how.

Against everything he knew and was, against reason and sanity and all rational thought, Tony had never felt more defeated in his life.

"Right." He pressed his lips together and clapped once, spinning on his heels with a sudden calmness to his voice that was void of pretty much anything. On his way to the elevator, he said over his shoulder. "If anyone asks for me tell them to get in touch with Pep."

The doors opened and the light spilling from the tiny space was at the same time the most welcoming thing Tony had ever seen and the worst. "Where are you…" Steve called out to him and Tony knew he was following.

"Malibu." Tony turned around and stepped back onto the threshold, leaning as casually as he could against the door to hold it open. "For the holidays. Some projects out there Pep's been trying to get me to focus on. Shit to do."

"Please don't go Tony. Don't leave because of this."

"There's no reason for me to stay."

Beneath the surface of his cold exterior Tony's entire body was wrought with his misery. In his head he was screaming. Give me a reason. Give me a reason to stay and I'll never think twice about walking out this door.

Something.

Anything.

Steve just looked stricken.

But he remained completely silent.

Tony gave him a broken, grimaced smile, stepped back, and watched the doors close between them one last time.

He took the ride up to his penthouse in silence while trying not to admit how horrifically he was about to fall apart.

•°*"˜˜"*°•

On Monday he had thought he was getting better.

Tony, and most of his workshop, was gone and across the country by Tuesday afternoon.

By Friday evening Steve sat on the edge of the landing pad of the tower, overlooking a city of millions, and felt completely alone.


End file.
